Revelations
by Josie Lange
Summary: All heroes have a beginning. This is the story of Lhiannon Amell, the mage who would become a Grey Warden and Hero of Ferelden. Full prequel to "Rend Asunder". Starts with Lhiannon as a teenager at Kinloch Hold and follows DA:O to the fateful Landsmeet.
1. What Are Grey Wardens?

_This story is dedicated to the wonderful Gene Dark; if not for her curiosity about Lhiannon, a number of my one-shots (and this story) would never have seen the light of day. I hope this story answers your questions about Lhi, Gene! Thanks so much for all your support! {Hugs!}_

_I also have to give a great many thanks to both Shakespira and Tyanilth for their generous support and vociferous cheerleading. It's much appreciated and I love you both for it!_

_Readers, do yourselves a huge favor and check out the stories that my friends above have written. Gene's "Death and The Maiden," Shakespira's "Lion" trilogy and "With Noble Intent", and Tyanilth's "The Hourglass" and it's various one-shots are phenomenal reads and are some of my personal favorites._

_If you have not read my one-shots "Hide Me" and "The Releasing", you may want to give those a quick look before beginning here. I've briefly referenced both early on in this chapter._

_It goes without saying that Bioware owns all and I'm just a fan with an imagination. Spoilers for "The Stolen Throne" and "The Calling" will be littered throughout the story. And they start early. :)_

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><p>It is often said that one must be careful what one wishes for, for it may come to pass. The irony of such a statement did not escape Lhiannon Amell, a teenager from western Ferelden who often wished for her life to take a different path than the one her parents had planned for her. Her parents, Roddick and Iris, arranged to dedicate their daughter to the service of the Chantry, preparing her to honor the Maker as a Chanter of His word. Her brother Edwin was also being prepared for the Maker's service; a templar, in his case. Her parents saw the dedication of their only son and daughter to the Maker's service both a blessing and a sacred duty, the highest praise and devotion they could offer; gestures of piety and sacrifice that they hoped may play a small part in convincing the Maker to return to His faithful.<p>

All that changed when Lhiannon, in a scream of anguish, pain, and fear, encased her father in a block of ice as he whipped her for not memorizing her daily lessons in the Chant of Light.

In the span of six days, Lhiannon's life had turned upside down, a tale of extreme opposites. At one end, she was being prepared for her dedication to the Chantry and a lifetime of speaking naught but the Chant of Light. It was not how she wanted to spend her life, but she felt powerless to change the path she was set upon. The other end saw her dragged to Kinloch Hold by the ropes tightly binding her wrists. She was a mage, a creature that those of her village feared and hated as the beings that drove the Maker from His children.

Lhiannon wondered in those first few days at Kinloch Hold why her father had not simply tied her to the stake and burned her as he, her brother, and the other men of the village had burned an apostate mage just days before her powers manifested. There was no answer that she could discern, no reason she could think of for her father sparing her from the ritual they called "The Releasing." He had loudly disowned her, calling her an abhorrence of the Maker as her hands were bound and she was led away by a surly templar. It was as if he were ashamed his own child could betray him by becoming a mage.

As if she had any say in the matter.

Fear and a crushing loneliness surrounded her in those days immediately after her abilities manifested. She felt utterly alone as was escorted to Kinloch Hold, abandoned by the Maker to whatever fate awaited mages in a world ruled by the Chant of Light and hatred for those who were one step away from becoming demonic abominations. She was given a black eye, struck by the templar escorting her for speaking out of turn; forced to walk beside his horse, hungry and thirsty, as he took her to her fate. The templars watched her warily as she was brought into Kinloch Hold and turned over to a senior mage, apparently waiting for her inevitable transformation into an abomination right before their eyes. Lhiannon could have sworn that the templar who escorted her to the Circle was disappointed that she had not shown any signs of possession. Even among those who had the same abilities as her, she felt lost, adrift in a vast sea to be swept away by the current.

When she met Anders, the loneliness vanished. They became fast friends after Lhiannon hid a fleeing Anders from the templars that pursued him for shocking one of them in the ear. Anders was easy to like and he had gone out of his way to help Lhiannon become acclimated to her new home.

He was close to her age, tall and scrawny like so many teenage boys still growing into their own bodies. He wore his hair long—which seemed to annoy the templars to no end—and had a boisterous, mischievous side to him that left her in a constant state of giggles while leaving the senior enchanters and templars in states varying from mild annoyance to outright resentment. Lhiannon had been pulled aside by more than one enchanter and templar as she explored the halls of her new home, warning her to stay away from the disruptive influence of the young man. Even First Enchanter Remille had warned Lhiannon to limit her time spent with the troublesome Anders.

Reveling in a new sense of burgeoning independence, Lhiannon smiled sweetly to all of them and ignored their advice.

Where some of the other mages Lhiannon's own age, especially the girls, looked down on her for being such a late bloomer to the ways of magic, Anders could not care in the least. He quizzed her in the basic lessons of magic and helped her learn to control her burgeoning abilities. When she had difficulty with the healing arts, Anders spent his free time tutoring her in the anatomy of the human body and helped her hone her healing skills. With his help and her determination, her skills began to flourish.

Not long after she arrived at Kinloch Hold, Lhiannon heard of the Grey Wardens for the first time.

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><p>The worst part of Senior Enchanter Wynne's healing classes involved the scratches the apprentices had to give to each other so they could be healed. Those apprentices in the healing classes wore a litany of red scratches on their arms in various stages of healing. The left arm was the one the mage himself or herself healed; the right arm the one a partner healed. It was easy to see, based on the scars of the left arm, who was proficient in the healing arts and who was not. Lhiannon had already been identified as a potentially gifted primal mage. On the other hand, her healing skills appeared to be somewhat lacking.<p>

As she counted the red marks on her arms before class began, Lhiannon groaned when her assigned partner for the day was a boy several years younger than her named Niral. Lhiannon found him to be whiny and annoying, complaining about everything from the temperature of the room—always stone cold or blazing hot due to the primal spells class held in the adjoining room—to the scratchiness of his robes. "I have sensitive skin," he complained more than once. Worse, Niral had the nasty habit of shoving his finger two knuckles deep into his nose when he thought no one was looking. When she had first met Niral, Anders told Lhiannon that Niral's name meant "ploughed field" in some ancient dialect. "He's ploughing a field, all right," Anders snickered, pointing a finger at his nose.

Lhiannon shivered involuntarily when Senior Enchanter Wynne assigned him to her that day; just the thought of _that_ finger running across her skin to heal minor scratches nearly caused Lhiannon to gag.

Lhiannon watched Niral extract his finger from his nose when another enchanter breezed into the room excitedly, pulling Enchanter Wynne aside and speaking to her breathlessly. Murmurs began to fill the room as the apprentices watched the conversation.

Niral leaned closer to Lhiannon, wiping his wet finger on the fabric of his robe. "What are they talking about?"

Lhiannon fought to keep her stomach contents in place as she observed a crusty spot on Niral's robe. She brought a hand to her face, attempting to cover her disgusted reaction. "Don't know," she choked out.

Wynne's eyes went wide as the other mage finished speaking. She looked toward the class, clapping her hands together for attention. "Apprentices, come with me. First Enchanter Remille has asked that everyone come to the grand hall to attend a special gathering with the King and the Grey Wardens."

Lhiannon rose from her stool, moving with the other apprentices toward the door. The apprentices buzzed excitedly, some nearly running into the hall to get a glance at the visitors. She paused when she reached Senior Enchanter Wynne's side. The Senior Enchanter had her graying hair pulled into a severe bun at the back of her head. She was rail thin with a pleasant face that was a stark contrast to her stern and seemingly unforgiving nature. Lhiannon had been intimidated by the mage's stern nature at first, but Anders laughed her fears off, saying that Wynne was simply a preachy windbag with her staff firmly placed where the sun did not shine. Ever since Anders put that vision in her head, Lhiannon could not take the Senior Enchanter too seriously. Lhiannon looked at Wynne, opening her mouth to ask about who, or what, Grey Wardens were.

"Apprentice Lhiannon, please keep moving," Wynne said, placing a hand on Lhiannon's back and guiding her toward the door. "You can ask your questions later."

Scoffing loudly and rolling her eyes, Lhiannon followed the other apprentices into the hall, moving through the curved corridors past other classrooms and the grand library on the way to the stairs leading to the grand hall. She was nearing the stairs when she felt a hand grasp her arm and pull her into a darkened doorway.

"Lhi, come with me."

Lhiannon looked up and met Anders' excited gaze with her own, following him into the room behind them. The room was pitch black; Lhiannon could sense the walls close by. _What kind of room is this?_ At the thought, Anders conjured a small wisp, the dim light casting a green glow around them. Lhiannon looked about, seeing that it was a small utility closet that Anders had pulled her into. Brooms and mops hung from hooks in the wall while neatly folded piles of rags adorned several small shelves.

"Andy, what are we doing?"

"We're waiting."

"Waiting for what? I want to go see the King and these Grey Wardens. Whatever they are."

Anders quietly scoffed, pressing his ear to the door and listening to the sounds of the mages moving on the other side. "We will, but we're going to go watch them from somewhere else. I don't want to sit with the little kids _or_ Enchanter Wynne. Do you?"

Lhiannon scoffed, snickering as she did so. "Ah, _nooo." _

They waited in the near darkness of the closet as the sounds of the mages gradually faded away. With a wave of his hand, Anders snuffed out the small wisp several moments later, opening the door a crack and peeking outside. Satisfied that they were alone in the hallway, he reached back and took Lhiannon by the hand, pulling her out into the hallway. "Come on, Lhi."

"Are we going to the great hall?"

Anders nodded, pulling Lhiannon along at a brisk walk. "Yes, but we have to move quickly so we're not spotted by the templars. There are two galleries at the ends of the great hall, up above the main floor. The mages sit down on the main floor while the templars and priests sit up in the galleries." Anders snorted indignantly as he opened a door along the hallway, revealing a secondary staircase that Lhiannon had not known existed before. Anders led her inside and closed the door behind them. "The templars and priests like to sit high above the mages, reminding us that we are different than they are," he said, pulling Lhiannon toward the stairs and beginning to climb, still holding her hand in his. "It's a constant reminder that we need to be watched and controlled just because of the gift the Maker gave to us."

Lhiannon lowered her head slightly, looking at the hand that was holding the hem of her robe above her feet as they climbed. "I was always taught that mages were offensive to the Maker," Lhiannon said in a small voice, remembering the indoctrination of her home village. She was accepting of who and what she was, but there were still moments of confusion and fear even now, weeks after arriving at Kinloch Hold. "I was taught that mages..._we_...were the reason the Maker abandoned His people and Andraste was burned at the stake. That magic was a curse and those that have it were less than human."

With a small and angry scoff, Anders jerked Lhiannon to a stop as they reached a small landing between floors of the tower. She gasped in surprise at the force in which he pulled her to a stop. He grasped her chin firmly with his hand, pulling her reluctant gaze up to meet his. Anders studied her for several moments, his eyes boring into hers. Lhiannon felt her heart flutter under his intense gaze and she fought the urge to look away from Anders' apparent anger.

"We are _not_ offensive to the Maker. He gave us the _gift_ of magic; it is _not_ a curse. Do _not_ let the templars, the priests, other mages, or _anyone_ tell you otherwise. You hear me, Lhi? We are no less human than they are."

With a nearly audible swallow, Lhiannon nodded, her eyes wide at Anders' outburst. He released her chin and grinned at her sheepishly. "Sorry," he said, his fair cheeks staining red, "I tend to get a little upset by such things. I meant no offense."

"None taken."

Lhiannon felt Anders take her hand, pulling her up the stairs once more. He set a brisk pace and before long, Lhiannon felt her lungs burning and rivulets of sweat running down the sides of her face. She felt herself slowing, pulling Anders' hand back behind him as her stamina flagged. Anders tugged impatiently at her hand, snickering as he did so. Lhiannon stuck her tongue out at him; he was not even winded. It was hardly fair.

When her heart felt like it was going to finally explode, Anders pulled her to a door off a small landing. Lhiannon ventured a glance back down the narrow stairwell, gasping as she saw the steps disappear far below them into the gloom of the tower. It looked like they were close to the very top. Anders reached out for the handle to the door, crouching low before leaning close and whispering into Lhiannon's ear.

"Keep your voice very low. Everything echoes up here. If we get caught, it's extra duties for sure."

When Anders opened the door, the dim stairwell was filled with light. Lhiannon squinted against the light, her sensitive eyes tearing up before adjusting to the abrupt change. Anders quickly pulled her through the door and quietly shut it behind them. Lhiannon glanced about her, seeing the window at the very top of the domed hall just above them. If Anders stood, he would be able to reach up and touch the outer panes of the window. This balcony was likely place here for that very reason.

They were on a small balcony high above the both the main floor of the hall and the larger balcony where the Chantry priests and templars sat overlooking the mages gathered below. The voice of First Enchanter Remille echoed through the hall, his voice ringing clear even from their height. Wooden spindles separated Lhiannon and Anders from the open space of the hall, the spaces between them close enough to conceal them from view, yet large enough where they could easily peer through them.

Lhiannon lay on her stomach next to Anders as they secretly watched the proceedings, listening to the First Enchanter prattle on about the bravery and honor of the Grey Wardens and their prowess as warriors against the dangers of the darkspawn. She could see a woman in heavy armor standing between the First Enchanter and the senior enchanters, the silver of her armor gleaming as brightly as her stark white hair. Even from this distance, Lhiannon could see that the woman was all warrior, confident and strong in her abilities. She also looked extremely impatient with the pontificating.

Next to her stood a man in resplendent armor, long golden hair spilling over the bright plates that covered his body, his hands clasped behind his back and chin held regally. His expression was neutral, unchanging as First Enchanter Remille droned on about the Grey Wardens. Though he appeared nearly bored to tears, Lhiannon thought she saw a sadness to his features.

Anders nodded toward the guests as the First Enchanter began to call the Grey Wardens forward. "That man in the bright armor with the long, blonde hair? That's King Maric."

"King Maric?" Lhiannon had heard of the King while living in Greenwood Vale, but only in occasional passing. The people of her village were more concerned with matters regarding the Maker and Andraste; the King was viewed as a secular figure and therefore of little importance to their way of life. Since coming to Kinloch Hold, she had heard more about King Maric and how his deceased Queen Rowan and Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir of Gwaren freed Ferelden from Orlesian occupation. King Maric was beloved by his people and more than one girl within the tower had a crush on the handsome King. More than one boy too, truth be told. Lhiannon glanced over at Anders, who was watching the proceedings with rapt interest. She squinted, studying Anders closely. He actually _looked_ a bit like King Maric…though it was hard to tell at this distance. She quickly dismissed the thought. _Coincidence._

The First Enchanter called the Grey Wardens up one by one, giving them special broaches that were meant to protect them as they entered the Deep Roads on some sort of expedition. There was a tall, lithe man wearing a hood. A stout female dwarf. A tall man in heavy armor with close cropped hair and a neat mustache and beard. Another tall man in heavy armor; this one with shoulder length blonde hair and clean shaven. There was a petite, dark haired mage with a bright white staff that earned several gasps from the apprentice mages as she passed through the hall. Lastly, the First Enchanter called forward a swarthy young man who appeared to be only a few years older than Lhiannon herself. His eyes—clearly bored with the proceedings—scanned the room as if looking for an escape route.

Lhiannon leaned over to Anders and elbowed him gently in the ribs. "That Grey Warden looks like he wants to escape."

"Can you blame him," Anders snorted quietly, "with all the pontificating Remille is doing, I'd want to escape too."

Finally, the First Enchanter called King Maric forward, handing him a satchel of potions that the First Enchanter said would protect him from some sort of disease that lurked in the Deep Roads. Lhiannon saw Anders shiver from beside her. "Ugh. Must be something nasty in the Deep Roads if the King has to take special tinctures every day."

"I hope I never have to go there," Lhiannon said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. The Deep Roads sounded like a nasty place; she was perfectly happy to stay on this side of the earth and avoid whatever disease lurked there. "I wonder why the Grey Wardens don't have to take the potions?"

Anders shrugged, his robes whispering against his skin. "I don't know. Other than being great fighters and heroes, no one really knows much about them." He rubbed his chin, his skin rasping against the small amount of stubble there. "Maybe we can search the library for more information. They look like normal people to me."

Lhiannon and Anders continued to watch the proceedings from their hidden vantage point, watching as the swarthy Grey Warden quietly moved toward a side door of the hall. The templars standing at the door hardly registered the Warden as he brushed by them.

"He's got the right idea," Anders said, stifling a yawn with his hand.

"Come on, Andy," Lhiannon said, scooting backward toward the door they had emerged from . She was rather bored herself; First Enchanter Remille liked hearing himself talk and, truth be told, his Orlesian accent was as pleasant to her ears as Niral's nose picking was to her eyes. "Let's get out of here before we get caught. I don't want us to be scrubbing floors on our hands and knees for the next month."

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><p><em>This story is meant to be a full prequel of my tale "Rend Asunder", starting from when Lhiannon Amell begins her studies at Kinloch Hold, through the main quests of Dragon Age: Origins, and ending at the fateful Landsmeet. I don't think I'll do every little quest in DA:O, but if there is one you would like to see, please let me know. For now, I plan on hitting the main storyline there as well as the big companion quests.<em>

_Lhi is an older Warden by the time she and Loghain cross paths in RA...she's about Anora's age which puts her around thirty. Gene and I have done the math and figured that Lhiannon had either just arrived at Kinloch Hold when the events of "The Calling" took place or had just missed it. I liked the idea of Lhiannon seeing what happened there; I kept that vague in "Rend Asunder" for just this reason. _

_I decided I wanted Anders close to Lhiannon's age as well, which may make him a few years older than the events of "Awakening." I've always pictured Anders as a little older, especially with all the escape attempts he makes from the Circle and the time he spent in solitary after being captured. I think that as a young boy, escape would have been difficult. As a young man, it becomes more plausible (in my head at least)._

_The name "Niral" is Hebrew and really means "ploughed field."  
><em>

_"Retribution" will be my main focus but I do hope to update this story a few times a month. We'll see what the muse has to say about that. ;) _

_I'm completely insane for writing two large stories. O.o_


	2. Strange Bedfellows

The descent down the dark and narrow stairway was far easier to Lhiannon than the exhausting climb up. Her legs still burned and quivered with the effort and she silently prayed to the Maker that she would not topple forward down the stairs, pulling Anders down with her to land in a broken heap on the next landing. Grasping the fabric of her robe, Lhiannon pulled it up a little higher, wanting to make sure there was no way she would trip over it.

Anders slowed slightly as they descended, letting Lhiannon set the pace down the stairs. He held her hand in his, wanting to make sure her steps were steady and to help keep her balanced as they descended into the darkness, the small wisp beside them providing only wan light.

"You all right, Lhi?"

"I think so."

Anders gave his new friend a reassuring smile. Lhiannon was a cute girl, even if she was a bit shy and quiet around the other apprentices. She had long brown hair, falling nearly to her waist that she generally wore in a braid down her back. Her eyes were as dark as her hair, doe eyes that curiously looked at everything in an effort to satisfy her insatiable need to learn about her new world. What she had come from before her abilities manifested, Anders had no clear knowledge of. Lhiannon seemed reluctant to speak of her past; he had only been able to glean snippets from her. While he was curious about her past, he was reluctant to push her for details when she was not ready to give them.

She came from a village to the west of Lake Calenhad, nestled at the foot of the Frostback Mountains and not far from Gherlen's Pass and the border with Orlais. It was rugged country from what Anders knew of it; his knowledge came mostly from reading the various tomes scattered throughout the tower. Reading about things other than magic was a hobby that Anders liked to indulge in as much as he could. Magic—especially that of the creation variety—came easily to him and he had heard more than once about how gifted he was. All he had to do was picture the result in his mind as he recited the incantations and the results always came as he pictured them. The classes he had to take frequently bored him, as he often progressed through the lessons at a much faster pace than his classmates. He knew he was nearly ready to endure his Harrowing, but his instructors and the First Enchanter cautioned him to wait. More than once he had been told that his impulsiveness and lack of discipline in class were solid proof that he was not yet ready for his Harrowing.

Anders brought his thoughts back to the girl rushing down the stairs beside him. He knew that she had been taught from childhood that mages were offensive to the Maker and for brief moments here and there, she seemed to believe it. That was something Anders thought was rubbish; their magic was a gift from the Maker, not a curse. Magic was only as benevolent or malicious as the caster made it. He wanted to see her grow confident in her abilities and see them as the gift they were. There were too many young mages in the tower who begged for their powers to be taken away, praying to the Maker with every free moment to save them from their curse. _Ridiculous,_ Anders thought.

After several minutes of moving down the dark stairwell, they came to the landing on the floor where the main hall lay. Lhiannon was breathing heavily as they stopped and Anders saw her pull a small cloth from within her robe and dab her sweaty brow with it. He snickered briefly at her—he was hardly out of breath, after all—and grinned as she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Be still, Lhi," Anders said, his voice a low whisper in the darkness. "Templars often walk this hallway." Lhiannon nodded as she stashed her cloth inside her robes, moving back behind the door so as not to be seen when Anders opened it. He pressed his ear to the door, listening carefully for several moments. After what seemed like an eternity hiding in the darkness, Anders reached out and took Lhiannon's hand, pulling her toward him as he snuffed out the small wisp. He slowly opened the door, peeking outside before quickly drawing Lhiannon through.

"Come on, Lhi!"

Lhiannon felt Anders take her hand and pull her quickly down the hall, the soft soles of their boots whispering along the hard floors. She turned to look behind her, seeing a templar moving off in the opposite direction. If he turned around, they would be caught and no doubt punished; since there were no other doors along this section of the hallway, it would be easy to determine where the young apprentices came from. Lhiannon picked up her pace slightly, not wanting to risk being caught and having extra duties lumped on her.

The voice of First Enchanter Remille drifted into the hallway as Lhiannon and Anders approached the main hall. He was still pontificating about the Grey Wardens and the King but as they entered the hall, Lhiannon saw the impressive Warden Commander signal to the First Enchanter, her impatience at the proceedings nearing an end. The mages within the hall were also showing their impatience, fidgeting in their seats and whispering to one another when the Senior Enchanters were not paying attention. Lhiannon and Anders slipped onto a bench at the back of the hall not far from where Senior Enchanters Wynne and Irving stood. Out of the corner of her eye, Lhiannon saw Enchanter Wynne look at her and frown.

_Great_, Lhiannon thought, _I'll be getting another lecture from her as to how I shouldn't be hanging around with Anders. It's clear she doesn't like him…_

Lhiannon's thoughts stopped when the young Grey Warden she and Anders saw sneak off reentered the hall through the small doorway he had disappeared through earlier. He returned to the bench he had been sitting on before, giving the small mage next to him a grin and a wink as he sat. The mage leaned over toward the young Warden, speaking low into his ear for several moments. Whatever the young man said in response caused the mage to shake her head slowly, the young Warden beside her chuckling lightly.

The proceedings finally ended not long after Lhiannon and Anders returned to their seats; the First Enchanter leading the Grey Wardens and King Maric out of the hall in a swirl of robes. The apprentices were given the remainder of the day off from their classes and were told to return to either the common areas of the tower or to their barracks. Not wanting to be cornered by Enchanter Wynne and chastised yet again, Lhiannon said a hasty goodbye to Anders before heading off to the barracks and her bed. Having the rest of the afternoon off would give her the chance to catch up on some reading and maybe even give her some extra practice with her primal spells.

As she neared the barracks, she could hear excited chattering coming from the room that served as her small piece of home. As she entered, she saw three other girls there, all crowded on the lower bunk of a bed near Lhiannon's. They paused briefly as Lhiannon entered before returning to their excited chattering. One was a slender girl several years older than Lhiannon named Rigana, her flaming red hair tied into two low pigtails whose ends rested on her ample chest. The second girl was a petite elf named Tallia, her short black hair woven into multiple braids. Lhiannon found it impossible to tell the ages of elves, especially since Tallia was the only elf she had ever seen in the flesh when she first came to Kinloch Hold. The third girl was a doe eyed beauty named Vivian, the girl whom the other two were crowded around. Lhiannon picked up one of her books and stretched out on her bed, lying on her stomach with her elbows propping her up.

Lhiannon heard the springs of Vivian's bed squeak as one of the girls bounced excitedly on it. "Oh, Vivian! What was it like? I can't believe you actually did _it_ with a Grey Warden!" It was Tallia's light voice that reached Lhiannon's ears, full of excitement and even a hint of jealousy.

"Are they really as…_gifted_…as the stories say about them?" This time it was Rigana speaking, her voice filled with awe and mirth.

Vivian laughed, the sound low and husky. "All that and _more_."

Lhiannon's eyes continued to skim the pages of her book, but as the other girls continued to pepper Vivian with questions, she found herself reading the same paragraph over and over again. Finally, Lhiannon turned the page and listened, her curiosity getting the best of her.

"His name was Duncan," Vivian said, her voice taking on a dreamlike quality. "We didn't talk a whole lot. We couldn't; my lips and tongue were a bit busy at the time."

"I bet they were," Rigana said, snickering.

Tallia chortled lightly. "And just _where_ were your lips and tongue? Little minx."

"Well," Vivian giggled, "let's just say they were somewhere _south_."

Lhiannon listened intently, her curiosity helplessly growing with every question and answer between the other girls.

"And then what happened?"

Vivian shifted on the bed, making the springs squeak in protest once more. "I kept my mouth busy, listening to Duncan groan and gasp. I _loved_ making him do it. I could feel him twitching in my mouth and when he put his hands on my head, I knew it was time to, well, speed things up."

"Ooh, you naughty girl," Rigana said, giggling lightly. "Then what happened?"

"He came of course, silly," Vivian said. "Then he flipped me over onto my back, staring into my eyes."

"How _romantic_," Tallia giggled, her words sounding a bit sarcastic. "But you know what _they _say about the Grey Wardens. Was it true? Did he fuck you until you begged for mercy?"

Lhiannon felt her face begin to flush and fought against the sensation. Before coming to the tower, she had never heard such crude language spoken very often. Her brother, Edwin, had said something her parents had not approved of once and they made him chew on and swallow a piece of the hard soap they used to clean their clothes. It had made Edwin vomit for hours and after that, she never heard him speak in such a manner again. Such language still made her blush.

Another thing that was spoken of in secret before she came to Kinloch Hold was the subject of sex. Lhiannon and a couple of young girls that she knew from Greenwood Vale had spoken in hushed whispers about the subject, fearfully watching for any adults to happen upon them. She knew that a man and woman were required to make a baby, but beyond that, knew almost nothing of the subject and even less about the act itself.

"Duncan was so…_endowed_. I felt so filled I thought his 'magic staff' would tickle the back of my throat. And when he moved inside me, it was _delicious._ A little pain but a whole _lot_ of pleasure."

"But what about his, _prowess? _Surely as a Grey Warden he could have went on for, oh I don't know, _hours?"_

"I don't know if he could go hours, but he went long enough for me so that I was nearly screaming for mercy. Of course, tickling myself in just the right spot didn't hurt either. When I came, I would have screamed but Duncan's tongue was a very effective gag."

Tallia scoffed, her light laugh showing her amusement. "If he was so endowed, he likely would have split me in half. Human men are a challenge for elves." Tallia laughed low and mischievously. "Not that I don't mind a challenge." The other two girls howled with laughter.

As she listened to Vivian tell of her experience with the Grey Warden Duncan, Lhiannon felt a stirring inside her. There was a twitch and a tingle in her core, settling down deep inside and near the place that gave her a shiver when her hand brushed up against it while bathing. She suddenly felt a compulsion to touch herself, the urge seemingly coming out of nowhere. She shifted slightly on her bed.

"Lhiannon," Vivian called out, "you're awful quiet. Aren't you the least bit curious?"

Heat built in Lhiannon's checks, both from Vivian's escapades and from her own embarrassment at being called out. "It sounded very...nice..."

"_Nice_," Vivian said, apparently scandalized at Lhiannon's words. "_Nice_? Lhiannon, you need to get Anders to show you just how 'nice' being screwed until you scream is."

"I think she's a virgin," Tallia said, giggling lightly. "You've never licked a lamppost, Lhiannon? Knocked boots?"

Lhiannon felt her cheeks burn ridiculously hot, the heat from her face surely causing her skin to blister; it _had_ to be blistering.

"You don't _have_ to be a virgin, Lhiannon," Rigana giggled, her mischievousness on full display. "Just ask Anders to help you with that. Or any guy; there's been more than one undressing you with their eyes in class."

Tallia scoffed lightly. "Or ask a girl, if guys aren't your cup of tea. _I'd_ help you out. I'm not picky."

Impossibly, Lhiannon's cheeks burned even stronger. Surely the pages of the book in front of her would spontaneously combust from the heat. She was not sure what worse: the burning in her cheeks or the tingling heat in her core that was instinctively begging for her touch. "I...well...I don't know..."

The girls giggled once more, continuing their bawdy conversation for several more minutes before they moved off, one by one, no doubt going to tell their other friends. Lhiannon was finally left alone in the room, listening intently for activity in the hallway. When she was sure no one was in the hall outside, she pushed her hand between her body and the thin mattress, wiggling it inside her robes to curiously touch the spot that responded so intensely to Vivian's story. A shock went through her as her fingers brushed her smalls just above that little spot; it felt..._decadent_. She giggled lightly to herself as she pulled her hand away, curiosity blooming inside her.

_Should I ask Anders about it? I would sound really stupid, but I really don't know or trust anyone else. Ugh, I'm an idiot._

Removing her hand from her robes, Lhiannon sat up, puzzling over the sensations that jolted her body when she touched herself. Was that was Vivian had felt when she was with the Grey Warden, Duncan? Lhiannon wanted to explore that feeling more, but was unsure of how to do so. Rather than try to seek out Anders and ask him potentially embarrassing questions, Lhiannon decided to go for a walk to try and clear her head.

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><p>Within the common areas of Kinloch Hold, the Chantry held services every day for the mages and templars, with obligatory services for all held twice a week. Lhiannon tried to pay attention to services, but found her mind wandering elsewhere as the priests read passages from the Chant of Light and spoke of Andraste's sacred fight against the ancient magisters. <em>Convenient, <em>Lhiannon thought to herself, _that the Chantry speaks of the horrors the ancient magisters—mages—visited upon Andraste's people. I never really thought of it any differently; then again, I wasn't a mage until recently. _

Lhiannon walked along the halls of Kinloch Hold, lost in her own thoughts. Growing up in Greenwood Vale, she was taught that mages were a scourge among the Maker's children and that the templars had a righteous duty to ferret out their evil. Things were so black and white in their teachings. She snorted to herself as she paused in her thoughts. If her magical abilities had not manifested, she would have been turned over to the Chantry in Greenwood Vale by now, set on her path to become a Chanter. It was ironic that she found herself thanking the Maker for making her the very creature He supposedly despised.

"Be careful, young apprentice!"

The large shadow of a templar loomed over Lhiannon and she stumbled in surprise at the voice and shape just in front of her. The templar reached out and steadied her as she started, her hand instinctively going to her heart in surprise.

"I..I'm sorry, ser templar. I was…lost in thought. I'm sorry…I didn't mean to…" Lhiannon looked up at the templar with wide and frightened eyes, waiting nervously for the chastisement that was sure to come. Instead, the templar smiled and gave a light, warm chuckle.

"It is not only your fault, young one. I, too, was lost in thought and was not mindful of where I was walking." Lhiannon saw the templar's smile fade somewhat as he saw her shaking hands and pale features. "You fear me, young one, don't you?"

Silently, Lhiannon gave a small nod. Templars always made her nervous and wary, especially after witnessing what they had done to apostate mages in Greenwood Vale. Even the templars at Kinloch Hold were dour at best and outright hostile at worst. She had seen a number of templars snarl at the apprentices as they walked by, delighting in frightening the youngest of the mages. It was as if they _wanted_ the apprentices to grow up with a profound fear of the templars; as if knowing _why_ the templars existed was not frightening enough.

"There is no reason to fear me, young one," the templar said, his voice soft and reassuring. "Why don't you come with me? Perhaps I can show you that there is no reason for fear."

Lhiannon watched the templar nervously. He looked harmless enough for a templar, but looks could always be deceiving. He was a middle aged man, bald and with the lightest blue-grey eyes she had ever seen. He had a square, yet pleasant face and Lhiannon could tell that under his templar armor, he was a robust man. He spoke to her kindly, almost respectfully, which was more than she could say about most of the templars in the tower.

Lhiannon decided to take the templar for his word, hoping for the best but preparing for the worst. "O..Okay…"

The templar held a hand out to her, motioning her into one of the libraries nearby. She walked into the room, moving toward a pair of chairs and a low table off to one side. The library was sparsely populated at the moment, only a few apprentices and mages scattered about the tables and chairs within the room. Lhiannon sat, watching as the templar sat in the chair next to her, his armor squeaking and clanging lightly as he moved.

"What is your name, young one?"

"Lhiannon…Amell. Ser templar."

The templar smiled and winked at her. "You can call me Ser Otto, young Lhiannon. I don't believe I've seen you here before. Are you a new apprentice here?"

Lhiannon shrugged. "Kind of. I've been here for a couple of months now. My…abilities…only manifested recently."

"I see," Ser Otto said, still smiling kindly at Lhiannon. "It must have been very hard for you to come to the Circle at an older age. Most apprentices come to the tower when there are just small children."

Lhiannon lowered her eyes, looking at the floor between her feet. "It was scary," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"How was it scary, young one?"

"I…I froze my father. He…he was beating me…"

Lhiannon nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt Ser Otto's large, calloused hand taking hers and squeezing it gently. "Oh, child. I'm sorry to hear that. I cannot imagine the fear you must have felt."

Astonishment came over Lhiannon as she looked at Ser Otto's large hand enveloping her small one. Was he playing her for a fool? Talking kindly to her in an effort to befriend her only to trick her by revealing his disdain for her? She turned a wary eye to the templar, studying him closely. He did not seem fazed by her scrutiny; on the contrary, he simply smiled at her, projecting an aura of calm and peace.

"Do you…live here…Ser Otto? I don't think I've seen you before." _He could have been hidden behind a helmet and I would never have known._

The kindly templar shook his head. "No, young Lhiannon. I was recently in Redcliffe at the Chantry there. I will be traveling to Denerim soon but wished to stop by Kinloch Hold and visit with Knight Commander Greagoir first."

"Is he your friend?'

Ser Otto nodded. "Yes, he and I have been friends for many years, though our duty often keeps us from seeing each other for long stretches of time. I could not pass up an opportunity to see him while I was in this part of Ferelden."

They sat in silence for several minutes, watching as two young apprentices working in the library replaced books on the shelves. The younger boy had his arms laden with heavy tomes as the older boy set them in their rightful places. They bickered back and forth, complaining about the number of books they had to replace and why the other mages could not get up off their lazy arses and replace the books themselves. Lhiannon turned her head slightly, studying Ser Otto out of the corner of her eye.

"You're not like any other templar I've met before," Lhiannon said, her voice wary. Ser Otto merely chuckled, the sound warm and pleasing to Lhiannon's ears.

"And what other templars have you met before, young one?"

"Mean ones," Lhiannon scoffed. "Mean ones that tied my hands together because they were afraid I'd cast a spell on them. Ones that scowl and say mean things to me as I pass by, just because I'm a mage." She looked up at Ser Otto, feeling the burning sting of tears in her eyes. It was silly, really, to confess such things to a man she barely knew—and a templar, no less. Yet, something made Lhiannon implicitly trust him.

Ser Otto nodded as Lhiannon spoke, listening intently to her words and pursing his lips for a moment. "Sadly, there are many among my brothers and sisters who see mages as less than human. They see mages as descendants of the magisters of old. While we must always keep our sacred duty to the Maker and His bride in mind, it is never wrong to show compassion to other people, mage or otherwise."

Lhiannon scoffed lightly, giggling as she did so. "You're not like any other templar I've met before, Ser Otto."

Squeezing Lhiannon's hand, he smiled warmly once more. "And what do you think I am, young Lhiannon?"

Shyly looking away, Lhiannon felt a small smile pull on the corners of her mouth. "A nice one."

"I thank you, young Lhiannon. Always there is a gulf between templar and mage and it is refreshing to see that gulf bridged with understanding." Ser Otto sat with her for another moment before rising, gently pulling Lhiannon to her feet before releasing her hand. "Unfortunately, I must take my leave of you now. The Knight Commander is waiting for me and I must be off to Denerim soon."

Lhiannon smiled at Ser Otto. "Will you come say goodbye to me before you leave?"

"I certainly will seek you out, young Lhiannon," Ser Otto promised, nodding his head toward the young mage.

As Ser Otto left, Lhiannon could not help but chuckle at the irony of the last few minutes. _A templar and a mage…friends. The Maker does indeed have a strange sense of humor._

* * *

><p><em>Wow, it's hard for me to step back and remind myself that Lhiannon is just a girl in this story! It's a challenge, but a fun one.<em>

_I've always liked Ser Otto and thought he'd be a templar who treated mages with compassion (unlike Cullen or Meredeth in DA2...where one can NEVER be friends with mages). I can't wait for Lhiannon to meet up with him again later in the story. Besides, he's got an awesome voice. Not like Loghain, mind you. :)_

_Speaking of the Taciturn One, for those of you following "Retribution," the next chapter may be delayed a couple of days. My muse is being incredibly stubborn and silent on that subject. I'll keep working with her. Plus, I want to play DA2 a bit (DLC's, you know)._

_Rigana was actually the original name I was going to use in my "R" stories. I had written a few chapters of "Rend Asunder" when I picked up one of my Marion Zimmer-Bradley books and remembered the name "Lhiannon" as one of her main characters. I always liked the name, so decided to make the change. Also, it was one year ago this Friday that I posted the very first chapter of "Rend Asunder." I was scared to death too! How time flies when you're having fun!  
><em>

_Thanks to reviewers Aura of Darkness Night, Shakespira, Suilven, Wyl, cloud1004, Gene Dark (without whom this story would not have been born), Kendoka Girl, Arsinoe, Tyanilth, and Dante Alighieri. I appreciate all the support you have given to me and this story._

_Thanks as well to all of you who are following along! :)  
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	3. Behind Closed Doors

_Thanks to super speedy beta Suilven for all your help! You rock the house!_

* * *

><p>Voices were raised in song, their solemn melody filling the common areas of Kinloch Hold, including one of the libraries just down the hall from where services took place. Lhiannon sat at one of the long tables in the library, studying a tome of medicinal plants; or rather, attempting to study the tome. The melody, though familiar and quite enchanting, was an incredible distraction that easily disrupted her concentration. She knew that there was no way she would be able to focus with the melody of the Chant of Light assaulting her ears, no matter how pleasant it sounded. With a melodramatic scoff, Lhiannon stood and shoved her loose pieces of vellum inside the book, slamming the hard cover shut on them. Pieces of vellum stuck out of the book at odd angles as she huffed and stomped through the maze of tall bookcases, choosing to study her lessons in her raucous room rather than in the noisy library. At least the noise in her room was gossip and chatter with the three girls she was quickly becoming friends with: Rigana, Vivian, and Tallia. The noise there was far more interesting than the Chant of Light that was currently filling the hallways.<p>

The melody increased in volume as Lhiannon approached the common area that held the evening's chantry services. While the singing itself was pleasant to her ears, the words did not move her. It was strange to attend the mandatory chantry services that spoke of the Maker's love for Andraste and her devotion to her divine husband; all the services she had attended in the past spoke of the evil of mages, their demon compatriots, and the magisters of the past and present. Fire and brimstone from her past clashed with the hope of love and forgiveness.

Her heart was not moved. It felt empty, devoid.

Before Ser Otto left for Denerim, he came to say goodbye to her, as he had promised. They spoke for a short while and Lhiannon found herself opening up to the kind templar. Lhiannon knew then that the so-called unquenchable flame the Maker set into the hearts of his second-born was fading within her. What was once a bright flame was nothing more than a dying ember now.

"Faith is rarely a roaring cacophony in the heart," Otto had said as they walked the halls of Kinloch Hold. "More often, it is a gentle whisper, so low that you must often strain to hear it."

"But how will I know that it is the Maker speaking to me? Or Andraste for that matter?"

"Your heart will know, young Lhiannon," Otto said as the approached the great double doors near the entrance of the tower. Pulling off one of his gauntlets, Otto placed a calloused hand on Lhiannon's cheek, giving her a warm smile. "Listen to your heart, young one. It will not lead you astray."

Before she knew what she was doing, Lhiannon had flung her arms around the cool metal of Ser Otto's waist, hugging him tight despite the cool, hard armor between them. Ser Otto was unlike any templar Lhiannon had met. She quickly grew to like him and was saddened to see him leave so soon. The templar gave a hearty chuckle before extracating himself from Lhiannon's grasp. He reached out and tousled her unbound hair before replacing his gauntlet. "Maker watch over you, young Lhiannon."

"You too, Ser Otto."

Coming out of her thoughts, Lhiannon found herself standing outside the common room where services were taking place. A sense of curiosity gripped her and she peeked into the room for a brief moment. Inside she saw a number of mages, clerics, templars, and even Tranquil contemplating the mysteries of the Maker and His divine bride. Several of the mages were on their knees or prostrating themselves at the foot of Andraste's statue, praying fervently to her likeness.

In her time at Kinloch Hold, Lhiannon had witnessed a number of mages who spent much of their free time in almost desperate prayer, begging the Maker to take away their magical abilities. They felt their abilities not only ostracized them, but cursed them as well. They begged for the Maker's forgiveness, asking what they had done to be given such a punishment and what they could do to have it taken away. Lhiannon sighed softly to herself as she watched them pray. _They would, in a way, fit right in in Greenwood Vale. _

As time passed and she learned more and more about her talents, Lhiannon saw her magical abilities as something that was simply a part of her, indistinguishable from the rest of her. It was a critical and vital part of her being, not unlike an arm or a leg. It simply _was_; denying it made no sense, nor was begging to have it taken away.

There were several of the Tranquil sitting at the back of the chamber, watching the services with their impassive stares. Lhiannon felt herself shiver slightly. The Tranquil were creepy to her, all blank expressions and emotionless speaking. Nothing fazed them; not even when one of the younger mages accidentally singed one of the Tranquil's robes. The man had calmly shrugged out of it and smothered the small flame as if it were second nature. Even standing in his smallclothes with the gaping stares and snickers of apprentices around him, he was unfazed. Lhiannon knew that if it were her robes on fire, she would likely run about the room screaming like a banshee and fanning the flames in the process.

The severing of one's magical abilities seemed so... _wrong… _to her. It was like cutting off the arm of a smith, or severing the fingers of a weaver. Both could certainly survive after such a trauma, but how would they _live?_ The Tranquil seemed to just _exist_ after the rite was completed; they did not _live_. No laughter, no anger, no love…

Sighing, she moved her gaze from the Tranquil to the statue of Andraste. What kind of omnipotent being simply turned His back on his first children for his second, then promptly turned his back on _them_? She thought the Maker sounded a lot like an unruly child having a temper tantrum when He did not get what He wanted. Was He a jealous god or simply an intolerant one?

Lhiannon watched the services for several more moments before moving off toward her bunk in the Circle's dormitories. When Lhiannon entered the part of the room that was her small piece of home, she found Rigana, Vivian, and Tallia sitting on Vivian's bed, chattering quietly amongst themselves.

"Lhiannon, come here," Rigana said, waving her hand impatiently, "we have a question for you."

"What's that?" Lhiannon asked, unceremoniously dropping her book on the bunk and quickly straightening the haphazard vellum inside. She groaned to herself when she saw the ink smeared on several pieces of vellum. Evidently, in her haste to leave the library, she had forgotten about the still damp ink on the pages. They would require a rewrite before she entirely forgot what she had been writing. After seeing her pages as a near lost cause, she turned toward Vivian's bunk, perching herself on the edge next to Tallia.

Rigana waited until Lhiannon was settled before continuing. "What's your favorite cuss word?"

Lhiannon snickered, a hand coming up to her face. "I … I don't really know. I wasn't allowed to cuss in Greenwood Vale. My brother had to chew on soap for it."

"Oh, come on, Lhiannon," Tallia said, nearly nudging Lhiannon off the edge of the bed with her elbow. "There has to be _one_ that you like to use. You've been here long enough to pick up some colorful metaphors."

"Mine is 'Andraste's scorched knickers'," Rigana said, giggling into her hands. "Get it? Scorched knickers? You know, burned at the stake?" The girls snickered quietly, not wanting to attract the attention of the templars that were no doubt patrolling the halls. They would all get extra duties for sure—as well as a firm scolding from Knight Commander Greagoir—if their saucy language was discovered.

Vivian looked about the room before lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "'Andraste's flaming cunt'."

Lhiannon, Tallia, and Rigana stared wide eyed at Vivian, mouths opened in surprise before they all fell into gales of giggles. A templar poked his armored head into the room and glared at them for several moments before stalking away.

"That's _so_ nasty," Tallia said, snorting in laughter once the templar had resumed his rounds. Her snorts only increased the volume of the other giggling girls. Rigana tried to hush them so as not to bring the templar about again. "But it's so _you_ coming from the girl that screwed a Grey Warden."

Lhiannon looked to the door for a moment, making sure they were not being observed before lowering her head toward the center of the circle of girls. She looked to each one, a hand coming up to rest close to her mouth. "'Andraste's flaming arse'," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You're such a potty mouth, Lhiannon," Tallia said, giggling lightly.

"I learned it from you."

The girls quieted as multiple heavy footsteps were heard in the hallway approaching their door. They all exchanged wary glances before turning toward the open doorway of their room. As they watched, two templars in ornate armor with full helmets passed their doorway. Unlike the full helmets worn by the templars that normally made the rounds at Kinloch Hold, these templars had helmets that were rough approximations of a human face, the expressions blank except for where the real eyes of the templars peered through the small eyeholes of the mask.

Lhiannon watched as Tallia wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. "Those new templars are creepy, especially with those masks they wear on their faces."

"Even creepier than the Tranquil? I didn't think that was possible," Lhiannon said.

Vivian nodded her agreement. "And have you noticed that there are more of them here ever since the Grey Wardens left with King Maric? It's like there's more every day."

"You mean ever since _Duncan_ left?" Rigana asked, chortling lightly. She made an 'O' shape with the index finger and thumb of her left hand and moved the index finger of her right hand back and forth through the circle. Vivian leaned over and slapped at her hands, scoffing in the process. Lhiannon and Tallia giggled into their hands.

"Even Senior Enchanter Sweeny sees them and he can't see his hand in front of his face," Tallia said, her giggles fading and bright elven eyes watching the doorway warily. "These templars are _mean_. I mean, they make the normal templars look nice."

Lhiannon snorted lightly. "Maybe we can put them in Sweeny's freezy chair. He's always saying the templars are giving him the stink-eye. Maybe that will teach them to be nice."

Leaning forward, Vivian beckoned the other girls to move in closer. When she spoke, her voice was low and Lhiannon thought she heard a small twinge of mystery there. "_They_ say First Enchanter Remille spends his days in his office with the door bolted and warded."

"Bolted _and_ warded?" Tallia asked, slashing her hand through the air. "The templars _never_ allow _an_y mage to have their door both bolted _and_ warded."

"I heard Ol' Remmie tell one of the senior enchanters that he has colleagues here from the University of Orlais and the Orlesian Circle of Magi," Rigana said. She glanced toward the door warily once more. "I heard that they're sharing knowledge."

"But why would Remille have his door bolted and warded?" Lhiannon asked, her brows bunching as she thought. "Does he have some sort of secret?"

"Duh, he _must_," Vivian said, rolling her eyes at her friends. "I saw Duncan coming from Remmie's office the day we met …"

"Oooh … _Duncan_," Rigana said, gesturing with her fingers once more. Lhiannon and Tallia snickered while Vivian slapped at Rigana's hands again.

"'_Oooh … Duncan',_" Vivian said, mimicking Rigana's speech. "Regardless, why would Ol' Remmie keep his mage friends in his office behind locked and warded doors unless he _was_ keeping a secret?"

"Maybe they're having sex," Tallia said, giggling madly once more. "All of them."

"Mages _and_ templars? Together? I doubt it," Lhiannon said, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "The templars wouldn't want to defile themselves."

Vivian ignored them. "At any rate, why would Remmie be bringing more of his friends here?"

Tallia shrugged. "Maybe he really _does_ have friends visiting. I know I get lonely for other elves from time to time. Maybe he misses Orlais."

Rigana scoffed. "Yeah, and monkeys might fly out of my butt."

Heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway again, drawing closer to the room in which the girls sat. They all turned toward the door and observed the Orlesian templars pass by once more, one of them giving the apprentices a look through the dark eyes of his human-like mask. Lhiannon felt a nervous prickle run up her spine.

_Creepy._

* * *

><p>"Lhi! Hey, Lhi, wait up!"<p>

Lhiannon turned from where she stood in the hallway outside the great library; her arms would normally be laden with tomes regarding spells and magical theory, but they were strangely empty at the moment. The senior enchanters had been called into a mandatory meeting with First Enchanter Remille earlier in the day, leaving the apprentices in the hands of the visiting Orlesian mages. They had watched over the apprentices for several hours, sternly ordering the apprentices to be silent when they asked questions about their lessons.

"Your normal classes will resume shortly," the Orlesian mage overseeing Lhiannon's creations class had insisted. After several hours of watching over the ever more fidgety apprentices, the mage overseeing them was greeted by yet another Orlesian mage. They spoke for several minutes in their language, either glancing nervously at the apprentices or into the hallway. Lhiannon watched them over the edge of her book, curious as to what they could be discussing. She could sense magical energies at work in the tower—more so than usual—but thought that perhaps other classes were busy casting spells as part of their lessons. The energies in Kinloch Hold often became erratic and chaotic when a great many mages were casting.

After what seemed like most of the day, an Orlesian templar stuck his head into the library, gesturing toward the apprentices and speaking with an angry tone toward the two Orlesian mages at the head of the class. The mages nodded and then turned to the young apprentices.

"Classes are dismissed for the rest of the day today. You will go to your rooms. _Now_. Leave your books behind. Do not delay or you shall be punished."

Lhiannon quickly closed her books, following the other apprentices out into the hallway. She had hardly taken a step when she heard Anders call out to her. She turned to look behind her, lifting up on her toes to try and see where he might be. Over the sea of heads, she saw Anders bobbing and weaving his way through the crowd, his strawberry blond mop of hair flowing around him as he pushed through the apprentices. He was admonished by one of the Orlesian mages for running in the halls as he closed the distance between them. With a hasty apology thrown over his shoulder, he moved to Lhiannon' side, grasping her hand in his and leading her through the crowd. As they walked, Lhiannon caught a strange odor in the hallway. It smelled like rotting meat. Her nose involuntarily wrinkled in disgust.

"Andy, what's got you all worked up?"

"Do you know what's going on? Did you have Orlesian mages in your class today?"

They passed several glowering Orlesian templars in the hallway. Lhiannon nodded as Anders steered her to the stairs leading up to the next level of the tower. "Yeah, they've been in there for most of the day. Are they Ol' Remmie's friends?"

"Shh! Not so loud," Anders said, quietly admonishing her. He looked about warily, making sure none of the surly Orlesian templars were within earshot. They were everywhere now, their numbers steadily increasing of late. He pulled her quickly up the stairs, passing a number of younger and slower apprentices as they climbed higher into the tower. They finally came to the floor where Anders' own bunk was stationed, his room near the far end of the hallway. He pulled Lhiannon inside and boosted her up onto his top bunk. They sat on his bed, legs dangling off the sides as they watched other apprentices—and the occasional Orlesian mage and templar—pass by the open door.

"I've never seen this many Orlesian mages or templars here before, Lhi. It's very, very weird."

Lhiannon swung her legs back and forth as they hung over the edge of Anders' bunk. "You've been here longer than me. Have you ever seen Remmie's friends here before?"

Anders shrugged lightly. "Sure, he occasionally has colleagues visit from other Circles and since Orlais isn't too terribly far away, a lot come from there. " Anders paused, dipping and shaking his head. "But there have never been this many before. And the feel of magic in the tower is stronger than ever. Like every mage in the Circle was trying to cast a spell at once."

"Could it just be apprentices practicing?"

Anders shrugged. "Maybe, but this felt like a _lot_ of magic."

Suddenly, an older apprentice rushed into the room, quickly moving to stand in front of Lhiannon and Anders. His eyes were wide and hands were shaking as if he had taken a fright.

"Liam, what is it?" Anders asked, his eyes narrowing at the apprentice. "What's wrong?"

"Andy! Lhi! The templars have closed one of the mage doors leading to the lower floors! Some say there are monsters in the tower!"

"Monsters?" Lhiannon asked, gasping and bringing a hand up to her mouth. "How could there be monsters in the tower? We're in the middle of a lake! Did they swim here?"

"I don't know. That's just what I heard one of the senior mages say before the templars closed the mage doors."

Anders looked down at Liam, his head cocked at an angle. "Did you see them close the doors, Liam?"

The apprentice nodded frantically. "I was trying to sneak down there to see what was going on. One of the newly Harrowed mages pulled me away and told me to go up to my room. I saw a fireball just before the doors closed. I _smelled_ things burning."

Lhiannon turned and looked at Anders, her brows furrowing in confusion. "What's going on here, Andy?"

"I wish I knew, Lhi."

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><p><em>I think the next chapter will be from a different character's point of view (that's the plan for the moment, anyway).<em>

_I wanted to have some sort of silly conversation between the girls to show their growing friendship. I went to a random topic generator online and found the topic of cuss words. I figured it was perfect; besides, Lhi had to learn to be a potty mouth from somewhere.  
><em>

_Thanks to reviewers Suilven, Aura of Darkness Night, Wyl, Dante Alighieri, cloud1004, Arsinoe, and Gene Dark. I love seeing your names in my inbox!_

_Thanks to all of you following along.  
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	4. The Thunder Rolls

_Heaps of thanks to my superstar beta, Suilven! Had, had, had... semicolon, semicolon, semicolon. You'll beat my bad habits out of me yet. I hope! :) You did an awesome beta job on, what, two hours of sleep? My bad... *giggles*  
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><p>The tower shook from deep below, the distant roar of magical thunder accompanying the tremors as they rolled through the tower. Lhiannon, Anders, and Tallia found themselves being herded up the stairs, angry shouts in Orlesian close behind them. Fear gripped Lhiannon, twisting her stomach into knots as the moments passed. She and Tallia were rushing up the stairs with their robes hiked up to their knees so that they would not trip. Anders followed a step behind, using his body as a barrier between the girls and the swatting swords of the Orlesian templars rushing them up the stairs from behind. Lhiannon could hear Tallia breathing heavily from her side, the stress of climbing at such a pace taking a toll on her slight elven frame. Tallia slowed as they came to a landing between floors, pausing to cast a rejuvenation spell on herself. Before she could finish, one of the Orlesian templars rushed to where she stood, striking her with his armored hand in a vicious backhanded slap. Tallia fell forward, the sound of a rib cracking against the stone steps loud in the small space. She cried out in pain as Anders helped pull her to her feet.<p>

"No spell casting, mage," the templar said, snarling at her from behind his metal mask.

Anders snarled back at the templar. "You daft bastard; she was trying to rejuvenate herself. She can't move that quickly up the stairs." Lhiannon gasped as the templar suddenly lashed out and struck Anders, cutting his face and lip with his armored hand. Anders stood nose to nose with the templar, glaring contemptuously at the eyes behind the armored mask. The templar raised his hand threateningly as if to strike him again. This time, Anders backed away, wiping the blood off his face before turning and gently helping Tallia to her feet. As Anders assisted Tallia up the stairs, the templar turned his derisive gaze onto Lhiannon.

"Are you next?"

A colorful curse came to Lhiannon's lips, but the templar saw the defiance in her eyes and raised his hand in warning. Seeing the implicit threat, Lhiannon shrank away from the templar, turning and hurrying up the stairs behind Anders and Tallia. After a few moments, they had caught up with a group of smaller children climbing the stairs. They were obviously tired, their young bodies unable to keep up with the pace of the templars behind them. Several were openly crying, their hoarse voices adding to the cacophony of sound coming from far below them.

"Move faster! Keep quiet," the templar behind them shouted.

As Lhiannon climbed the last few steps to the next landing, a boy several years younger stumbled on the hem of his robe, falling forward and catching himself on the rough steps before him. She reached down and quickly helped him to his feet as one of the templars snarled at them to keep moving.

"You okay?" Lhiannon asked, helping the boy climb the stairs once more. He had a mop of dark hair, disheveled yet matted to his head by sweat. His light eyes were wide, his mouth open slightly as he panted with exertion. After a moment, the boy nodded.

"Yeah. M'okay," he said, his voice a barely audible mumble over the pounding of footsteps on the stairs and the rumble from deep below in the tower. The floor shuddered again, causing the boy to gasp and shake in Lhiannon's hand.

"I'm Lhiannon. What's your name?"

"J… Jowan…"

Stay with us, Jowan." Lhiannon pointed to her friends ahead of her. "The elf? That's my friend Tallia. The boy with the long hair is Anders; he's my friend too."

"Uh…okay…"

Lhiannon looked up and saw that they were very close to the top of the tower. At the next landing, two Orlesian templars flanked a door set into the wall, herding the young mages through with looks of thinly veiled contempt. They were led down the hall and into a small common room there, and ordered to sit on the floor and keep quiet. Several templars remained in the small room, glaring at the youngsters before them.

"None of you are to attempt to use your magic," the templar in charge said, shoving an older enchanter into the room with them. Lhiannon recognized the mage as Enchanter Sari Trugill, a woman who taught classes on Fade theory. Sari stumbled briefly as she entered the room, then crumpled into a heap as the templar in charge smote her.

"Hey!" Anders said, his voice an indignant shout. He moved to stand, but Lhiannon grabbed his arm to try and keep him sitting on the floor. Anders jerked his arm from Lhiannon's grasp, snarling at the templar in the doorway. "You didn't have to smite her, you self-righteous bastard!"

Lhiannon shrieked in fright as a second templar called a holy smite down upon Anders. He paled and groaned, his eyes rolling back into his head at the onslaught. He began to tremble and slumped to the side; Lhiannon pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around him to both keep him steady and comfort him. He shook in her arms and Lhiannon could feel the residual effects of the templar's smite surrounding him. Her stomach rolled uncomfortably; she glared at the templar, but knew what awaited her if she said anything.

The tower shook beneath them again. Jowan reached out and wrapped a hand around Lhiannon's arm, a small whimper escaping his lips. Lhiannon pulled one of her arms away from Anders, draping it around Jowan's shoulders and pulling him close.

"Enchanter Sari, what's happening?" Tallia asked once she had helped the older woman into a sitting position. The enchanter rubbed her temple with delicate fingertips as the color returned to her face.

Sari gave a wary glance to the templars near the door, keeping her voice low so as not to antagonize them any further. "First Enchanter Remille has imprisoned many of the senior mages, installing his Orlesian cronies into their places. The templars have been imprisoned and denied their lyrium; some are going mad." Sari paused as the tower trembled beneath them again, a peal of what sounded like thunder heard from far below. "Some of the mages and templars are fighting back."

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><p>"Report."<p>

Teyrn Loghain handed the scout a flagon of water, waiting patiently as the man took a long draw. The scout had just arrived from a mission to the west of Lake Calenhad near Gherlen's Pass. He had been charged with watching the pass for activity from Orlais. The man looked like he had ridden hard from his post, which made the hair on the back of Loghain's neck stand up.

The Teyrn and a number of the Fereldan army were currently camped just outside West Hill, following what leads they had on King Maric's disappearance. It had been several since the Grey Wardens from Orlais had arrived; how convenient that when they had left, Maric had disappeared at the same time. Loghain cursed. He had offered to be the guide the damned Orlesians wanted to lead them into the Deep Roads, but it appeared the Orlesians had other motives. Apparently, Maric was a much more valuable hostage, despite the fact that Loghain was perhaps the most hated man in Orlais.

Another, more disturbing thought crossed Loghain's whirling mind. Maric would not have left with the Orlesians willingly, would he? Leave Cailan and the nation behind on some fool's errand? Loghain hoped Maric had not run out on his son or his country. A twinge of guilt cut across his heart before he crushed it; he had _not_ run out on Celia and Anora. _This _was different.

Loghain's exhausted mind drifted back to the day he had discovered Maric missing.

The ambassador from Kirkwall was furious when he appeared in Loghain's office at the palace; he had been waiting all morning to meet with King Maric and he had said that if this was the way Fereldans conducted their business, then they could deal with the raiders off the coast themselves. Loghain had not seen Maric that morning, which was not all _that_ unusual when there were no visitors in the palace. That Maric had not met with the ambassador as he had promised vexed Loghain greatly. Loghain was still in a foul mood from the meeting with the Orlesian Wardens the night before and hearing that Maric could not drag himself from wherever he was to meet with the ambassador only served to fuel his irritation. Loghain spoke with the ambassador, listening to the man's concerns about the raiders. As the general of Ferelden's army, Loghain promised the ambassador that he would increase patrols of both men along the coastline and have some of Ferelden's small navy patrol the waters along the shore. Ferelden's people were not sailors; Loghain did not trust the sea but he knew keeping and building a navy was a tactical move that could not be ignored. After all, that weakness had been exploited by the Orlesians in the past.

After seeing the ambassador to his entourage, Loghain turned and stalked the halls of the palace in search of Maric. Were it not for the leather of his gauntlets, Loghain's fingernails would surely have left deep gouges in his skin from how tightly his hands were clenched. He felt his irritation grow with every step he took, every empty room he looked into. He was supposed to be preparing for his fool's errand with the Grey Wardens, not babysitting the King. _Maker's breath, I swear he does these things on purpose when he just can't be bothered. Damned bloody idiot! When I find him..._

"Teyrn Loghain?"

A small voice brought Loghain to a quick stop, the plates of his armor scraping lightly. Standing in a small adjoining hallway was young Cailan, his small hands wringing together and a look of worry on his face. Loghain felt a small hitch inside him; the look on Cailan's face was one he had seen on the face of the boy's mother many times in younger days. The place in his heart that would always belong to Rowan tugged at him. He pushed it aside, seeking to find the cause of the boy's distress.

"Cailan. What is it?"

"Have you seen my father? I've been looking for him _everywhere_ and I don't know where he is. He _always_ wants to hear how my lessons with Mother Ailis went... but I can't _find_ him!"

The hairs on the back of Loghain's neck began to stand up. _This_ was unusual; Maric always greeted Cailan after his schoolings with Mother Ailis, wanting to hear how his boy was progressing with his lessons. That Cailan stood here before him on the verge of tears set Loghain's instincts into action.

The first thing to do was settle Cailan; the perfect person for that would be Mother Ailis. After that, he could begin to look for Maric in earnest. Loghain shook off the gauntlet covering one of his hands, placing his hand on Cailan's shoulder. He tried to give the boy a comforting smile.

"Come, Cailan. I'll go look for your father. Let's get you to Mother Ailis; she'll look after you for the time being."

"Okay."

Loghain guided Cailan through the halls of the palace toward the small library that Rowan had established for both her voracious love of reading and Cailan's daily lessons. Mother Ailis was still there, replacing books on the shelves when Loghain and Cailan entered. She turned to them with a smile, which Loghain watched falter as she looked at his face. He had known Ailis a long time; she knew him almost better than anyone and she no doubt saw the fine lines of worry on his face. She had become a mother figure in the years he and his father had been on the run; in those dark years after his mother had been raped and murdered by the Orlesians who had taken their farm.

"Teyrn Loghain," Ailis said, her voice guarded. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"There is," Loghain said, trying to keep the irritation at Maric out of his voice so that Cailan would not be upset further. "Cailan is concerned that he can't find his father. I'm going to look for him. Please watch over Cailan while I do so."

Mother Ailis quickly put Cailan to work putting books back on the shelves before returning to Loghain's side. She gazed into the face of the middle-aged man, seeing beyond the troubled expression to find the boy she knew from years ago. Many considered Loghain to be a cold, taciturn man, but Ailis knew the reality. The Teyrn was a man who felt deeply, carrying a deep passion for those he cared for. He opened himself to only those he allowed to become close to him and sadly, those numbers were few. Judging by the worry lines on his face, Loghain was deeply concerned.

She broke out of her brief reverie. "What do you think has happened to King Maric?"

"I am unsure," Loghain said, his voice low so as not to alarm Cailan. "I intend to find out. When I find that idiot..." He paused briefly, his gaze falling on Cailan. "I'll return shortly."

After leaving Cailan in Mother Ailis' care, Loghain stalked through the halls of the palace toward Maric's private apartments. He pulled a small ring of keys from inside his armor, letting himself in.

As always, the first thing that caught Loghain's eye was the painting of Rowan that hung on the wall above the grand fireplace in the sitting room. Loghain's breath caught, seeing the image of Rowan captured on canvas. Maric had commissioned the painting just after their wedding and coronation. She looked radiant, both warrior maiden and benevolent queen, the golden crown on her head a shining contrast to her dark curls. Even now, Loghain could see the sadness beneath Rowan's serene expression; a credit to the artist.

That had been the day he had left for Gwaren.

Breaking from his musing, Loghain swept his gaze over the room. Nothing looked out of place. The door to Maric's bedchamber stood partly open. Loghain moved toward the door, his trepidation growing with each step closer. Placing his armored hand on heavy wood, Loghain pushed it open and peered inside.

Maric's bed was neatly made. Loghain's cool eyes traveled the room, looking for anything out of place, any clues...

His eyes landed on the two armor stands in the room. Maric's golden ceremonial armor adorned one of the stands—the other was empty. Loghain frowned. The stand that held Maric's silverite armor was the empty one, and the rack that held his enchanted blade was likewise empty. The hairs stood up on the back of Loghain's neck once more. Maric only donned his silverite armor and enchanted blade when he was leaving the palace; more often than not in recent years, Loghain saw him in either finery or the ceremonial armor.

_Andraste's blood... where the bloody Void have you disappeared to? The Grey Wardens..._

Moving at a clip, Loghain left Maric's apartments in search of the captain of the palace guard. His anger grew as he neared the man's office. Knowing the whereabouts of his King was the captain's duty and if he was failing at it he would face Loghain's wrath.

Without knocking, Loghain burst through the door to the captain's office, startling the man into spilling his small inkwell. The captain stood quickly, his chair crashing to the ground behind him as he tried to protect his vellum from the spreading ink.

"Tell me, where is your King?" Loghain asked, his voice curt.

The guard captain looked up at Loghain for a moment before returning his attention to the spreading mess on his desk. "I saw him with the Grey Wardens in the back corridor last evening. His Majesty ordered me off, saying that he would be speaking with the Grey Wardens alone."

The hair on Loghain's neck began to stand up again, his irritation and dread growing stronger. _What the bloody Void was Maric doing in the back corridor with those damned Orlesians? _"And you did not think to report this to me?"

"The King ordered me not to; said I wasn't to bother you, Your Grace," the guard captain said, his voice stammering under the intense glare the Teyrn gave him.

Loghain swore, barely holding his anger and concern in check. _Maker damn it to the Black City!_ It took all of Loghain's willpower to not grab the guard captain by the scruff of his neck and throw him into the nearest cell. The Grey Wardens were _Orlesian_; there had been more than one attempt on both his and Maric's lives in the years after Ferelden had regained its independence from Orlais. What if the story they had told regarding this missing Grey Warden was a ruse? What if these people were not Grey Wardens at all but more assassins sent to Ferelden in their name? Not only had this man not stopped Maric from speaking with the damned Orlesians alone, but he had then not told him about the odd order.

Loghain pointed an accusatory finger at the guard captain. "Where is your second in command?"

The guard captain called out for his second, a young lieutenant who appeared in the doorway from an adjoining room. Loghain looked pointedly at the lieutenant, a man named Logge. "_You_ are in command of the palace guard now."

"Y—yes, Your Grace."

Loghain pointed to the now former guard captain. "You. Out. _Now,_" Loghain said, his voice a sharp bark in the small room. The former captain paled and quickly scampered out of the room. Turning his attention to the new guard captain, Loghain nodded curtly.

"_Captain_ Logge, mobilize your men. I want you to search the palace and grounds for the King, but do it _quietly_. I will search the inner sanctum of the palace, and you and your men will search the other areas. Report to my office in one hour with your findings." Dread settled into a lump in Loghain's stomach; the more time that passed without sign of Maric, the more he thought it ominous. Had he—and Maric's men—somehow allowed Orlesian agents under the guise of Grey Wardens into the palace? Had they snatched the King from right under their noses?

As Loghain had feared, Maric was nowhere to be found within the palace or the adjoining grounds. He sent guardsmen to the gates of the city as well as the harbor in search of Maric. A report finally came in from one of the side gates of the city that the Grey Wardens had been spotted leaving wearing heavy cloaks… with one extra person than they had arrived with. Loghain cursed; Maric _had_ left the city with the Wardens. Now, the question was whether he had left with them willingly. It was beginning to appear that Maric had left with them of his own free will, but Loghain needed certainty.

It was late in the evening when Loghain was able to gather the new captain of the guard, Maric's chancellor, and several army officers from Fort Drakon within the walls of the palace to begin planning the search for the King. By this time, Loghain estimated that Maric and the Grey Wardens had a day's head start on them. Being on horseback, they would be able to cover significant ground if the woman Genevieve had her way. Looking over a map of Ferelden while he waited for the others to arrive, Loghain began to formulate a search plan.

There were only two entrances to the Deep Roads that he and Maric had been through: one in the northwest of the country near Kinloch Hold and the other in Gwaren. Loghain doubted that Maric would take the Grey Wardens to the entrance in Gwaren; that entrance was likely still flooded and besides, Loghain had commissioned a company of dwarves to repair and reseal the entrance years ago.

The most logical entrance was the one near Kinloch Hold, especially since that lickspittle Remille was with them. No doubt the Orlesian fool would wish to be escorted back to his tower in the middle of Lake Calenhad by his Orlesian countrymen. The North Road was the fastest route to Kinloch Hold—there were few roads crossing the Bannorn that could provide a more direct route—but if Maric and the Grey Wardens did not wish to be found, they likely would not travel along the main roads. Loghain looked out the window, watching as the nearly full moon cleared the horizon, casting strong light over the darkened landscape. The moonlight was bright, but sending men off on a search for the King in the dark of night was something Loghain was loath to do. However, these were not normal circumstances so sending them off during the night had to be considered.

When the others arrived, Loghain began to assign duties. The army was to be dispatched throughout Ferelden, with groups of men to march to Gwaren, Redcliffe, the central Bannorn, and Amaranthine. Loghain himself would take a company of men along the North Road toward Highever and eventually Kinloch Hold. In his gut, he believed Maric and the Grey Wardens would search for the Deep Roads entrance in western Ferelden. He also planned on paying a visit to Remille at Kinloch Hold to demand that the man either tell him where Maric and the Grey Wardens were or be thrown into the vast waters of Lake Calenhad. To say Loghain did not trust Remille was an understatement. Not only was he Orlesian—which automatically caused Loghain to be suspicious—but the man was as slippery as a snake. With the King missing, it was the perfect situation for an opportunist like Remille to take advantage of.

When he did arrive at the tower to confront Remille, Loghain meant for it to be in force. With that in mind, he planned to send several scouts ahead on horseback to West Hill, asking the Bann to send several ships up the river that connected the Waking Sea to Lake Calenhad. The ships would be waiting along the northern shore of the lake by the time Loghain and his men arrived.

It was at first light that Loghain and his company of men left Denerim, heading west on the North Road. Since there were nowhere near enough horses for all the men, Loghain had the army moving at a forced pace on foot. They would march west and canvas the countryside until the sun neared the horizon, set camp, then be off again by the time the sun cleared the horizon in the morning. They were hardened men and women, accustomed to rigorous training. Loghain had no doubt that they would be able to make the journey west in excellent time.

Loghain's men fanned out along and near the North Road, small parties sent into the landholdings, small villages, and boarding houses near the road to see if anyone had spotted a number of heavily armored men and women heading west. By the third day on the road, Loghain was becoming discouraged and angry; clearly, the Orlesians were clever enough to avoid the main road. Finally, as they neared the roadway that split off toward the north and where Highever lay, a scout came back with the news that Loghain was waiting for.

The Grey Wardens and Maric had indeed traveled this way.

The scout had been sent ahead the day before, fanning south along one of the narrow roads that led into the northern Bannorn. He had stopped in the second small hamlet he came to, Birchwall, and had discovered that a group of people headed by an imposing woman warrior with white hair and a mage with a waxed beard and mustache had stopped at the small market for provisions. While a group of travelers passing through was nothing unusual, the merchant had clearly remembered that the mage spoke with a foreign accent and that the white haired woman had seemed to be in a great hurry, not wanting to tarry within the village. The scout had pressed for information on the woman and mage's companions and had soon realized that it was the group they were looking for. Loghain felt both a sense of relief and a renewed sense of irritation at the situation; however, they were on the right track.

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><p>Loghain broke from his reverie, looking at the winded scout before him. The man finished drinking from the flagon, handing it back to Loghain with an appreciative nod. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the man spoke his piece.<p>

"Your Grace, a number of templars have been seen on Gherlen's pass, heading into Ferelden from Orlais."

Loghain's expression darkened, contemplating this news. _Why are templars coming from Orlais? The Chantry in Denerim has not mentioned requisitioning more templars. Ailis would have heard if they had._ "Have you heard from the patrol at the border?"

The scout nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. The templars are headed for Kinloch Hold at the request of the First Enchanter. They're definitely Orlesian, Your Grace; their helmets are very distinct."

"The First Enchanter?" Loghain asked, his brow furrowing deeply. "Normally it is the Knight Commander making such requests for templars. The last thing we need is more Orlesian lickspittles underfoot."

The scout grunted his approval. "They were all on horseback, moving at a clip toward the Circle. As soon as they passed, I followed them as far as the northern end of Lake Calenhad. They broke off toward the south while I continued here."

Possible scenarios came to Loghain's mind, none of them good. The templars could be joining the Orlesian Wardens in whatever scheme they had planned. They could be taking Maric to Orlais... to either be ransomed or killed. It was possible that the Circle needed more templars, but then why did the call come from the First Enchanter and not the Knight Commander? And why did the call go to Orlais rather than Denerim?

Loghain called out for the lieutenant stationed outside his tent. The man quickly appeared, giving Loghain a crisp, practiced salute.

"Take a squadron of men and leave for the border crossing with Orlais along the Imperial Highway immediately. Spread out in groups along the border, keeping within spyglass sight of each other. Stop all travelers going into Orlais that fit the description of the Grey Wardens. Stop anyone traveling with carriages or carts and search them. I do not want the Orlesians trying to slip back into Orlais with the King. Report back to me if—"

Shouts were heard just outside the tent. Hearing the commotion, Loghain pushed past the two men in his tent, hurriedly throwing the flaps back in time to see a second scout running toward him, followed by a woman in heavy armor and a young man in a long cloak. As they drew closer, Loghain could see that both the man and woman were bloodied, but seemingly uninjured. The woman wore a templar's plate and skirt; the man wore torn and singed robes rather than a cloak.

"Your Grace," the scout called out, coming to a stop just before Loghain's tent. The man and woman drew closer, out of breath as they came to a stop behind the scout.

"What is it?" Loghain asked, looking past the scout to the man and woman behind him. _Definitely a templar and mage… but why are they here?_ "Who are these people?"

"This is templar Almonda and mage Godfrey from Kinloch Hold," the scout said, his voice still breathless from his run. "I found them at the Lake Calenhad docks after they rowed a small boat to shore from Kinloch Hold."

Loghain took a step forward, examining the templar and mage closely. His eyes narrowed as his gaze moved between the two of them. "You both look like you've seen some fighting."

"Truer words were never spoken," the mage Godfrey said as he tried to brush dirt and dried blood from his robes.

Templar Almonda nodded grimly at Loghain. "We barely escaped with our lives. Godfrey and I just happened to be in the docking area underneath the tower when the fighting began…"

"Fighting?" Loghain asked, his brows furrowing at the templar. "What fighting?"

Almonda's face became grave. "First Enchanter Remille and his supporters have taken control of Kinloch Hold."

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><p><em>I've taken a break from Skyrim to post this chapter. I've decided that I'll keep working on the fan fiction between breaks (or when it crashes to my desktop... bummer). I'm hoping to have the next chapter of "Retribution" posted in about a week or so. It's outlined and just needs to be fleshed out. That is, of course, if my muse isn't kidnapped by my Imperial battlemage Khorrine Snowraven.<br>_

_Big thanks to reviewers Suilven, Arsinoe, Wyl, Dante Alighieri, cloud1004, and Tyanilth. I appreciate all your support! Now, you are excused to go play Skyrim until you start nodding off in exhaustion. ;)  
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_Thanks to all you quiet readers as well!  
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	5. Liberation

_Thanks to awesomesauce beta Suilven for her great eye and efforts to slay my bad habits! Thanks as well to special guest beta Wyl for insight regarding the battles, both with the actual fighting and against feral semicolons._

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><p>"What do you mean, taken control?" Loghain studied the templar Almonda and the mage Godfrey carefully, looking for any signs of deceit. Though both were obviously tired and bloody, they stood their ground. The templar held his gaze, not flinching under the Teyrn's withering glare; the mage stood close by, studying both carefully.<p>

"What I mean is Remille brought in a number of templars and mages from Orlais over the last few weeks," Almonda said, her voice calm yet emphatic. "It happened slowly; a few templars and mages here and there. When the Knight Commander made mention of it, the First Enchanter said the mages were from the University of Orlais and the Orlesian Circle, coming for a symposium on magical theory."

Godfrey nodded in agreement. "Their numbers increased once the Grey Wardens and King Maric left for the Deep Roads. They—" The mage gasped in wide-eyed surprise as the imposing Teyrn was suddenly loomed over him, his eyes narrowed as he closely studied the mage. Godfrey shrank back slightly, the thought of _don't kill the messenger_ coming to the forefront of his mind.

When he spoke, the Teyrn's voice was low and dangerous. "The King was at Kinloch Hold? When?"

"About a week ago," Almonda said, ticking off the days on her fingers. "Five days, perhaps six. With all the chaos, I have lost track of time. Nevertheless, they were only at Kinloch Hold briefly before leaving for the Deep Roads."

Loghain looked to the horizon, the last of the day's light quickly fading to be replaced by the glittering pinpricks of stars overhead. The army had just made camp not long before. The urge to order the whole of the army to pack up and leave was almost overwhelming. However, the army needed to rest, for they would be ill prepared to find their King if they were nearly dropping from exhaustion. Loghain felt his fists clench, the leather of his gauntlets squeaking loudly in protest; Remille would certainly answer to _him_ for his actions over the last few days—preferably at the end of Loghain's sword—before he personally threw the treacherous First Enchanter off the highest balcony of Kinloch Hold. _Let him be shipped back to his precious Orlais a broken sack of flesh and bone._

Returning his attention to the scout, Loghain beckoned him forward. "Take several men and scout the North Road between here and the docks leading to Kinloch Hold. Bring any other mages and templars to me; we will need their help to retake the tower."

"Allow me to go with your scouts, Your Grace," Almonda said, her voice sure and confident. "If they see me with your men, I can assure them that the army is there to help."

Loghain gave the templar his permission with a curt nod, sending Almonda and the scout off to follow their orders. Godfrey watched them leave before turning to the taciturn Teyrn. "And what about me, Your Grace?"

"You, and any mages we find, will accompany the army to Kinloch Hold," Loghain said in explanation. "I am not one to put faith in magic, but I cannot ignore its advantage in this situation. You will aid our march with your haste spells; we need to liberate the Circle as soon as possible." He paused, feeling his lips draw into a snarl_. Maker help Remille if he has any implication in the King's disappearance._

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><p>With the first light of day, Loghain split off a segment of the army and ordered them to march to the small village on Lake Calenhad hosting the main docks to Kinloch Hold. Several other haggard mages and templars had made their way to the camp during the night, and Loghain sent them with the army with orders to aid the soldiers by whatever means necessary. If there were any Orlesian templars still headed to Circle, they would have to board the ship for the brief journey at the village, and Loghain intended to stop them before they could cause any more trouble than they already had. Securing the docks would be the first step in cutting Remille off from supplies or reinforcements, as well as ensuring that Loghain and his men would sail to Kinloch Hold unopposed.<p>

The remainder of the army began to march to the northern shore of Lake Calenhad and the ships that awaited them there, aided by the haste spells cast by Godfrey and two other mages that had joined the army along the road. The ships waiting for them were swift corsair ships, each with two large angled sails and lightly armored so as not to hinder speed. Two rows of long oars dipped into the water, ready to aid the sails with their powerful strokes. Loghain swallowed a small lump in his throat as he boarded the flagship, a knot of apprehension crawling in his stomach. _No Fereldan worth his salt should be sailing; leave that to the Antivans_.

The journey south toward Kinloch Hold was swift, the rhythmic motions of the oars accompanied by the beat of drums below deck keeping the rowers in time. Loghain stood at the bow of the flagship, watching as the spire of Kinloch Hold grew larger. A ship was on either side of his corsair, sails full and oars churning through the water as they kept pace with the rhythmic thumping of the drums. A mage and two flanking soldiers were stationed on each bow, the mages ready to protect the ships while the soldiers protected the mages as they drew closer to Kinloch Hold. Loghain was certain that some sort of resistance would show itself once the ships were spotted.

The waters of Lake Calenhad were still and calm as they sailed, a stark contrast to what was no doubt happening in the tower itself. As the ships glided south, something in the water ahead caught Loghain's eye. Reaching into his pack, he brought out his spyglass and scanned the waters before them.

Bodies floated on the surface.

Anger bubbled up inside Loghain, a tightening in his chest that matched the clenching of his fists around the spyglass. With a low growl, he watched as the corsair passed the first of the bodies in the water, the captain of the ship breathing an invocation to the Maker to watch over the poor soul.

A flash of light caught Loghain's eye from shore. Turning his spyglass to his left, he focused his attention toward the rocky beach. A man wearing armor with the heraldry of the King on his breastplate was standing on one of the docks, a large metal mirror in his hands that he moved ever so slightly. Loghain immediately recognized the signal as the one of victory; his men had taken the docks.

"Your Grace, look!"

Loghain turned toward the sound of pounding footsteps as Godfrey approached him, pointing emphatically at the spire of Kinloch Hold. Balls of flame were flying outward from the tower to land in the waters of the lake with a loud hiss. They were not landing close to the ships at the moment, but given the pace the wind and rowers had set, that would soon change.

"Teyrn Loghain," Godfrey said, his finger still pointing to the tower, "those are mages casting fireball spells. They're testing their reach."

"They know we're coming," Loghain said, his voice low and deadly. "Good." In all his years as a general and soldier, the element of surprise was a tactic he liked to use as often as possible. Conversely, there were times he wanted the enemy to _see_ him coming, to see the force he commanded coming directly at them. He wanted the enemy to _see_ them coming and fear them—to fear _him_.

Loghain turned to the mage beside him. "What spells can you and your mages cast to help keep those on the tower busy while we approach? I do not fancy having our ships set afire."

Godfrey rubbed his chin with his hand as he concentrated, silent for a moment before snapping his fingers in enthusiasm. "I've got it. Three mages can cast individual spells that together can envelop parts of the tower in a blinding storm that can also weaken those inside."

Loghain turned his gaze to the spire, closer now. The mages were still casting fireballs into the water. At the pace the ships were sailing, they would be within range within moments. "How close to the tower can you cast this spell?"

"We'll have to begin casting soon if we want to debilitate the mages. Thank the Maker that the wind is at our back; that will help extend the range of our spells. We can keep the spells rather tight to the walls once the ships draw closer."

"See that you do. I do not want my men to get caught up in the storm as collateral damage." Loghain turned to his lieutenant and signal caller on deck, ordering them closer. "Bring the archers on deck and have them train their arrows on any mages visible. Kill any that attempt to cast a spell toward the ships." Loghain then turned to Godfrey. "Mage, you and your colleagues are to cast your spells at the tower until we have landed on shore. We are going to retake Kinloch Hold and find the King, or die trying."

* * *

><p>Urgent shouts in Orlesian filled the tower, accompanied by the thundering footfalls of templars. The cacophony roused Lhiannon from an uneasy doze. As Lhiannon's weary mind rose from unconsciousness, she wondered if Vivian and Rigana were all right; they had been attending classes on a lower floor of the tower when the Orlesians took over. The worry crawled in Lhiannon's stomach, bringing burning tears to her closed eyes. She sighed, knowing that even attempting to sleep again would be futile. Raising her head from where it rested against Anders' shoulder, her gaze was drawn once more to the covered body laying only a few feet away. She grimaced in revulsion, pressing herself closer to Anders' side. Pulling her gaze away from the body, a brief survey of the room revealed Tallia and Jowan sleeping nearby, their backs against the rough wall and heads on their knees. Senior Enchanter Sari was also nearby, tending to a wounded templar in the fierce grip of lyrium withdrawal. Sari looked haggard and tired, but tried to give Lhiannon a reassuring smile nonetheless.<p>

The gravely wounded mage had been brought into their room late the evening before, barely conscious and muttering incoherently. Sari had immediately gone to the mage's side, her face becoming alarmed at the injured man's condition. His skin was waxy in appearance and covered with dark blisters of all shapes and sizes over his exposed skin; some of the blisters were clear, but far more were a dark purple bordering on black. Lhiannon had watched as Sari had turned to the templars.

"This mage is suffering from severe frostbite. Please, he doesn't have much time. Let me use my magic to heal him."

"No," one of the templars had said, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "You have been told not to use your magic."

"I beg of you," Sari had said, her voice quivering with emotion as the mage fell ominously quiet, "_please_ let me heal him. I promise to only use the smallest amount of magic. You can prepare a holy smite if need be, but please let me heal him."

The enchanter's pleas had fallen on deaf ears, and she had turned to Lhiannon, Tallia, and Anders to try and warm the mage in an effort to save his life. He had been covered with what blankets they had and each apprentice had been assigned a hand or foot to try and rewarm. Lhiannon had felt her stomach turn as she had tried to warm the mage's left hand by breathing on it; Sari had warned her to not rub the skin nor move his digits unnecessarily and cause more damage. The blisters on the mage's hand had seemed to change colors by the moment as if they were alive themselves.

Their efforts had been for naught; the mage had died soon after without regaining consciousness. After saying a quick prayer to the Maker, Sari had brought the edge of a blanket up to cover the dead man's face.

Rubbing her eyes, Lhiannon tried to banish the memory from her mind. As she pressed closer to Anders, he stirred and opened his eyes. His arm tightened around her and after a moment, she felt his thumb stroking her in a gesture of reassurance. A grimace crossed his face at the sight of the covered body nearby. He turned to her, his face slightly pale. "You all right?"

"Yeah," Lhiannon said, giving Anders a small smile. "I'd be better without that body lying there. It's creeping me out."

Anders could see the fear in Lhiannon's eyes, the fear that grew with each passing hour of their captivity, for their situation was just that. They were cut off from the other rooms around them, never mind the other floors of the tower. The templars had not shared any information with them on the fate of the others and with not understanding Orlesian, they could not eavesdrop on any conversations. The unknown stoked their fear.

Anders gave Lhiannon a reassuring smile before he looked to where Sari was tending to the templar suffering lyrium withdrawal. The templar, a woman old enough to be their mother, was sitting on the floor with her arms wrapped around her knees, rocking back and forth and muttering phrases from the Chant of Light. She was unresponsive to Sari's questions, not even telling the Senior Enchanter her name. Sari caught Anders' eye, shrugging helplessly. After giving the templar guarding them a suspicious look, Anders grabbed Lhiannon's hand, pulling her over to where Sari and the nameless templar sat.

Anders leaned close to where Sari sat. "What do you suppose will happen to us?"

"Do they want us to swear allegiance to them or something?" Lhiannon quickly added, indicating the templar behind them. "Are they going to let us go back to classes?"

"I doubt it," Sari said, her voice a low snarl as she glanced over to the templar and back to the apprentices again. "With the fighting that's occurred, it's likely that they'll annul the whole tower and start over, maybe even bringing their own mages in."

Lhiannon gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth in shock. "But we're just kids!" She pointed to where Jowan slept nearby. "Like Jowan… he's younger than we are!"

"It doesn't matter. First Enchanter Remille and his Knight Commander can say there are blood mages all through the tower. Their word together would be enough to justify the Right."

Anders scoffed in disbelief. "But don't they have to send the request to the Grand Cathedral in Denerim first? Don't they have to wait for approval?"

Sari snorted lightly, raising her brows at the apprentices before her. "Remille usurped the tower. Do you really think he'd wait for approval?"

Lhiannon and Anders traded a worried glance; she felt her stomach flip inside her once more as Anders pulled her close, partly in fear and partly... something else. _I hope someone comes to help us. Fast._

* * *

><p>The ground vibrated with the feel of heavily armed soldiers rushing onshore and over the wooden docks, the wood groaning in protest under the weight. War cries filled the air, a cacophony of Orlesian, Fereldan, and the ancient Arcanum of the mages. With sword in hand, Loghain leaped off the gangplank of the boat onto the rocky shore, flexing his knees to absorb the shock of the landing. A number of templars and mages ran out of the tower, rushing toward the Fereldan soldiers with swords and staffs held high, shouting spells, battle cries, and invocations to the Maker in Orlesian.<p>

Loghain's focus narrowed at the prospect of battle, the noise fading toward the back of his perception. He calmly drew the shield off his back as the first of the Orlesians reached him and swung a two-handed sword at his head. Loghain deflected the blow with his shield, pivoting away on the balls of his feet as the templar's momentum carried him forward. Raising his foot, Loghain planted it in the small of the templar's back, shoving him forward and off balance. As the templar fought to regain his footing, Loghain rushed forward and thrust his sword into the man's unprotected armpit. A shrill scream pierced the air as the templar writhed in agony, his cries cut off abruptly as the sword of a Fereldan soldier found the back of the soldier's neck.

Loghain turned about, quickly bringing his shield to bear as a fireball hurtled in his direction. He squeezed his eyes shut as the spell impacted his shield, the force and heat of the magical blast surprisingly strong against him. When the heat dissipated, Loghain lowered his shield slightly to see the mage responsible raising his staff overhead, the shouts of old Arcanum assaulting his ears. Loghain rushed forward, bringing his shield to bear to use as a battering ram against the mage. At the last moment, an Orlesian templar sprang between them, knocking Loghain off balance and sparing the mage the worst of Loghain's attack.

The Teyrn landed on his shield with the templar above him, the Orlesian's weight effectively pinning Loghain's shield arm to the ground and rendering it useless. Loghain kicked and bucked in an attempt to knock the templar off him, nearly wrenching his pinned arm out of its socket in the process. The templar sneered at Loghain's efforts, moving to thrust the pommel of his sword into Loghain's head. Before the templar could swing his arm, an armored hand grabbed the templar by the neck, yanking him off Loghain with a grunt of exertion. The templar quickly regained his footing, bringing his sword to bear against the Fereldan soldier that kept him from his kill. Loghain stood, flanking the Orlesian templar and thrusting his shield into the man's blind side, causing him to stagger.

A second templar rushed toward his comrade to aid him, an angry battle cry filling the air around them. Loghain moved to intercept the new templar, swinging his sword and landing it on the templar's armored breastplate with a ringing crash. The force of the blow knocked the templar off his stride and shook Loghain's arm, an annoying pins and needles sensation rippling through his flesh. The templar turned his full attention toward Loghain, a snicker of amusement audible behind the full helmet covering the templar's face.

"You think you can best me, Dog Lord?"

Loghain sneered at the templar, readying his sword and shield and standing with his weight on the balls of his feet, ready to spring into action at the templar's first move. As the templar brought his sword to the ready, a magical bolt impacted the templar's chest, arcs of lightning dancing across his heavy armor. The templar jerked on his feet and the acrid smell of burning flesh filled the air around them. Loghain heard a triumphant shout as the templar fell. Turning his head, he saw Godfrey standing behind him, his staff pointed menacingly at the templar. Loghain nodded to the mage before turning toward the looming spire of Kinloch Hold.

The Fereldan army was pressing closer to the tower despite the heavy resistance from the Orlesian templars and mages. The mages with the Fereldan army were standing well out of the templars' reach, casing spells at the higher levels of the tower and obscuring it in swirling, angry clouds. Loghain assessed the tower once more, knowing that once inside the battles would likely be fought room to room and up the twisting staircases. Remille was likely in the uppermost levels of the spire surrounded by his most powerful and loyal allies.

Thrusting his sword into the dirt next to him, Loghain quickly stripped the shield from his left arm. It would be a hindrance in the narrow confines of the stairways; he would have to rely on his swordsmanship and heavy silverite plate to protect him. The shield dropped to the ground next to him with a dull thud. Grasping his sword, Loghain began to run toward the battle at the base of the tower. Though he did not entirely trust magic, he would not see the Orlesians supplant the Ferelden Circle. The thought of fighting Orlesians again both turned his stomach and filled him with a terrible exhilaration; he would drive the Orlesians out of his beloved Ferelden once more or die trying.

* * *

><p>The smell nearly knocked Loghain off his feet.<p>

He led the army into the lowest level of Kinloch Hold after a fierce battle with the Orlesian templars and mages at the foot of the spire. He split his men up just outside; one half to ascend the tower through a grand door on the far side while he and his men took the back entrance. He stepped over the dead and dying as their blood soaked into the earth and flowed across the stone path leading to the rear entrance of the tower. The smell of blood and excrement was heavy in the air. Passing through the open door of the tower, he stopped abruptly as the smell of corruption assailed his nostrils. It was not overpowering, but was enough to make his stomach turn. He remembered that smell; it was one that no amount of time would ever erase from his memory.

There was no time to contemplate why _that_ smell would be in the tower as another wave of templars and mages surged down the stairway and into the chamber where he and his men stood. They were accompanied by the sounds of thunder reverberating through the tower, the vibrations causing the hanging chandeliers to sway ominously. The commander of this band of templars shouted orders in Orlesian to his men, seeking to use the language barrier to their advantage. They sought to quickly descend the stairs and spread out into the chamber to engage the invaders and thwart their advance. Several of the templars had bows and sought to rain their arrows down upon them.

Loghain heard their shouts and turned to Godfrey, who stood just behind him under the cover of a soldier's shield, casting spells of haste on one Fereldan soldier at a time. Loghain reached out and grabbed his arm, pointing toward the descending Orlesians with his sword. "Cast a spell to immobilize the templars near the foot of the stairs. I want a choke point created so that we can pick them off; they won't be able to advance nor turn around to escape."

Godfrey nodded curtly, turning his attention to the templars coming down the stairs. He would not be able to stop all of the ones nearing the foot of the stairs, but he could stop those following behind. He wove his spell, watching as a glyph appeared on the stairs and stopped a number of the templars in their tracks; others quickly backed up behind them. Confused shouts and barked commands to move forward began to fill the air.

"Crossbows!" Loghain shouted, his sword finding purchase in the neck of a templar who had been knocked to his knees before him. "Take out those men at the top of the stairs!" Almost immediately, the whistle of crossbow bolts filled the air, some errant and hitting the stone walls while others slammed into flesh and armor. Shouts of surprise and pain filled the air, quickly followed by the thuds of armored bodies falling to the floor.

The Fereldan army surged forward, taking the stairs one at a time and pushing the bodies of the fallen out of the way. Resistance began to grow with each floor ascended, though there were few prisoners to be seen. Loghain moved forward near the front of the army, his sword dripping red as he held it in a two-handed grip. As the army cleared another floor of resistance, thunder boomed from overhead, the sound nearly deafening as the tower shook ominously. They were in a large common room with two open staircases spiraling upward along the wall to disappear into the floor above. Bookshelves, tables, and chairs were scattered throughout the room. Books were in singed, disorganized piles on the floor where their cases had been tipped over. Much of the furniture was overturned and broken, some placed in arrangements to provide cover for fighters while others appeared to have barricaded doors. Beyond a pile of debris, Loghain saw an ornate door, thick oak banded with darkened metal and an ancient carving of a dragon etched into the wood. Were it not for the chaos around them, Loghain may well have found himself studying the door. He raised his hand, silently beckoning Godfrey forward from behind him.

"That door… what lies beyond?"

"It eventually leads to the grand hall," Godfrey explained, pointing to the open staircases around him. "There is another door on the opposite side of the room, but it appears someone has barricaded it. The stairs come together and end in a vestibule just outside the double doors to the hall. The thunder sounds like it's coming from there."

Before Loghain could reply, more templars and mages began to appear, spells of fire and ice quickly raining down upon them. Loghain quickly grasped Godfrey and threw the mage to the floor, protecting him from the onslaught of fire with his heavily armed body. Sweat began to pool under his armor, soaking into his padded underclothes and chafing his skin.

"Templars," Loghain shouted, his voice a roar against the magic swirling around them, "smite those mages!"

"But, Your Grace, that could render our own magic useless…"

"It's either that be at the mercy of their onslaught," Loghain shouted, quickly hauling Godfrey to his feet and pushing him closer to the protection of the army. Blinding light filled the chamber as the Fereldan templars called down their holy smite on the Orlesian mages. The righteous power of the templars' might filled the air, causing the hair on the back of Loghain's neck to stand on end. He raised his sword into a ready position, turning to face the approaching Orlesian templars.

A sword swung at him, the templar wielding it uttering a guttural battle cry. Loghain met the swing with a parry of his sword, the clashing of metal ringing in his ears. The templar swung his sword furiously, Loghain deflecting each blow deftly before going on the offensive. The templar was pushed backward by the force of Loghain's blows. As Loghain followed through on a sideways strike of his sword, he raised his elbow and pivoted on his feet, driving his arm into the side of the templar's helmet.

The templar staggered under the momentum; Loghain quickly raised his foot and kicked the templar in the side of his knee, a sickening crack filling the space between them. The templar fell to his other knee, his roar of pain cut off when Loghain brought his sword crashing down into the gap between the templar's helmet and the top of his breastplate, the sword finding purchase in the flesh there. Bright red blood spurted forth from the wound, a fine spray coating Loghain's dark plate while thicker blood stained his sword.

Loghain looked around him, his chest heaving with exertion. His men were slowly gaining the upper hand against what proved to be the most able templars yet. Only a few templars were descending the stairs now; it appeared the main force was engaged with the Fereldan army around him. Loghain waved and shouted to several of his men nearby, leading them toward the stairs and what lay beyond them.

As they climbed, several templars and an ancient, yet powerful mage stepped into their path. Loghain and his men climbed the staircase side by side, engaging the templars along the way. The mage above pelted them with pellets of ice, the sting against his skin causing Loghain to wince in pain. He felt the chill creep through his armor, meeting with his sweat soaked underclothing and cooling his skin. He shivered as he climbed, his thoughts becoming sluggish as the moments passed and his body became colder.

Growling in frustration, Loghain swung the pommel of his sword at the templar engaging him, hearing the satisfying crack as metal met metal. The templar swayed, stunned from the force of Loghain's blow. Loghain reached out and grabbed the staggering templar, pulling the woman in front of him and using her as a shield against the magic the Orlesian mage above rained down on him. The mage snarled, pouring more power into his spell in an effort to reach Loghain through his human shield. The templar in Loghain's grip screamed in pain as the ice and snow seeped into her, her exposed skin turning white and waxy before splitting. Blood welled up from underneath, steaming as it contacted the frozen skin.

As the mage's spell subsided, Loghain pushed his shield aside and leaped over her, racing up the stairs and coming within an arm's reach of the Orlesian mage. With a curse, the mage pulled a vicious looking black dagger from inside his robes, swinging it wildly at Loghain in an effort to defend himself. Loghain easily parried the dagger with his blade and with his momentum, thrust his sword into the stomach of the mage. Bright red blood poured out of the wound and added to the coating already on Loghain's blade. Loghain met the mage's eyes with his own, watching as the fire within them began to falter. He yanked his sword from the mage, grabbing the man's robes and pushing him over the side of the open staircase. Loghain watched the mage fall to the floor below, a sickening thud and swirls of dust rising from the floor as the mage became still. Loghain paused and watched the fighting below him for a moment, a feral grin crossing his face as he saw his army gaining the upper hand. His men had pushed the Orlesian templars against the far wall, crushing them in place like a vice.

The sound of pounding feet on the stairs behind him brought Loghain from his brief reverie. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing one of his lieutenants leading a contingent of men up the stairs. Loghain raised his sword over his head, beckoning them on as he finished the climb and emerged on the floor above. The grand double doors Godfrey mentioned stood before him, a half dozen templars and one mage serving as the only obstacle between the Fereldan army and the grand hall beyond. With a wave of his hand, Loghain and his men rushed forward, the Orlesian templars and mage quickly overwhelmed by the greater numbers against them. Loghain reached forward and grasped the ornate copper handle of one door while another soldier grasped the other. They pulled the doors open, rushing inside the chamber.

The first face Loghain saw amidst the chaos was Maric.

* * *

><p><em>Notes aplenty this chapter. One of our fellow Cheeky Monkeys, mackillian, put a listing of travel times within Thedas on the Cheeky Monkeys site that came in very handy this chapter. She got them from the Dragon Age wiki, <em>W W Westra. com, wardensvigil . com, and swooping-is-bad .live journal. com<em> (without all the spaces). My travel times in both chapters four and five are based roughly on those figures. Timelines in the Dragon Age world are a total nemesis of mine. Case in point: Anders between Awakening and DA2 (don't even get me started). Mack, if you're out there, thanks for all your hard work!  
><em>

_I know in DA and "The Calling" rowboats are used to get people back and forth between the docks and the tower. It's also mentioned in "The Calling" that Loghain and his army arrive on large ships. Where did they come from? My thought was that Loghain and his men met the ships at the northern end of Lake Calenhad, where an unnamed river connects the lake to the Waking Sea. I thought a settlement like West Hill would be a place for larger ships to dock. Since Loghain can't really afford to have small ferries shuttle his army back and forth to Kinloch Hold, he would need the larger ships. Since the North Road and Imperial Highway pass near the northern end of the lake, it made sense to me to have Loghain board ship there._

_Thanks to reviewers Wyl, Suilven, DanteAlighieri, cloud1004, Arsinoe, and Tyanilth. Your comments help keep me going._

_Thanks as well to all the readers!  
><em>


	6. Aftermath

_**Thanks as always to the awesomeness of beta Suilven for her help in keeping me on the straight and narrow. :) Those of you that have read "The Stolen Throne" will recognize the first scene. Some of the dialogue is from TST but I have also added some of my own.**  
><em>

* * *

><p><em>Maric.<em>

A profound sense of relief swept over Loghain at the tired, battered form of Maric standing within the great hall of Kinloch Hold. Two of the Grey Wardens were nearby; the dark haired elf stood before Maric while the young thief was only a few paces away.

The sense of relief was fleeting however, quickly followed by a sense of profound annoyance. Loghain snorted to himself, likening the scene to one between a parent and child, where the child had committed some outrageously foolish act; once the parent made sure the child was alive and unharmed, it was time for the switch. It would not be a physical switch in Loghain's hand, but he had no intention of letting Maric off easily.

After the quick look at Maric, Loghain noticed the overpowering smell of corruption in the air, the same smell that had permeated the Deep Roads and had bored itself into his memory years before. Scanning the room, Loghain saw that there was a... creature... standing over a decapitated body dressed in fine—if now gore-streaked—robes. The creature looked eerily similar to the darkspawn Loghain had encountered in the Deep Roads on that desperate journey to Gwaren years ago, yet this creature made no hostile moves toward anyone. In fact, the creature had not moved at all; rather, _it_ had remained still, its blood-red eyes downcast.

Loghain quickly snapped himself out of his reverie. The first order of business was to make sure the King was in no immediate danger from the strange creature or anything else. With the wave of his hand, Loghain's men followed the unspoken command to secure the hall and this level of the tower. After the King's safety was seen to, a floor-by-floor search of the tower could begin in earnest; they were not finished with the Orlesians just yet, Loghain surmised. He would not leave the tower until every last one of them was either stretched by the neck or imprisoned.

With long strides, Loghain crossed the floor of the hall to stand before Maric. The King appeared unharmed from a distance, but Loghain had to be sure. As he approached, he identified the headless body on the floor as that of First Enchanter Remille, the head lying nearby and staring lifelessly into the distance. In a way, Loghain felt disappointed that he could not interrogate the man before throwing him off the tower himself. All things considered, however, Loghain was not sorry to see the Orlesian dead; one less Orlesian lickspittle in the world was a good start.

"Well, Maric," Loghain began, sweeping his gaze over the King, "I see you're not dead." Loghain's gaze noted the tears in the simple shirt and fine breeches he wore, saw the dirt caked on his face and his mussed hair. He appeared to be relatively uninjured despite the ragged appearance. "Though that looks like luck more than skill."

Maric laughed, a tired and humorless sound. "It's good to see you too, Loghain." He turned to the elf before him—Fiona, if Loghain's memory served. "Though it wasn't luck that saved me this time. It was the Grey Wardens."

Loghain scoffed loudly, not caring about the exasperated look he received from the elf that was now in Maric's arms, nor from the deep scowl the young Rivaini thief favored him with. There was work to be done here before Loghain could pack up the King and take him back to Denerim where he belonged. The first orders of business involved the strange creature that stood before them and making sure Kinloch Hold was truly freed from Remille's Orlesian cronies.

_Maric has a lot of explaining to do_.

* * *

><p>The sounds of fighting drew closer.<p>

Lhiannon was huddled into a corner of their small room; Anders, Jowan, and Tallia all crowded around her as they stood watching the door warily. The smell of fear surrounded them and she felt her stomach pitch uncomfortably. Enchanter Sari was standing in front of them in a futile effort to protect them from whatever was approaching. Two Orlesian templars were in the room with them, one watching the mages closely as the other guarded the doorway.

An older Orlesian mage with intricate robes and a waxed mustache and beard had recently joined them. He and his Orlesian templars growled orders to each other in their language as they patrolled the hallway outside, suspicious eyes falling onto their Fereldan prisoners every few moments. Their movements were becoming more agitated as the minutes passed and the sounds of fighting drew closer. Lhiannon's fear grew. _What would keep the Orlesians from harming them if they felt threatened by whatever was approaching?_

A loud crash resounded in the hallway beyond as the barred door at the top of the stairs gave way, the sounds of metal clanging and shouts in Fereldan reaching the room where the mages huddled.

"Are those soldiers?" Jowan asked, pressing himself further into the corner behind him.

Sari turned her head toward the apprentices. "Quiet, Jowan."

"Are they, do you think?" Tallia asked, her voice little more than a whisper in Lhiannon's ear. Magical fire began to erupt in the hallway, prompting Jowan to gasp in fear from behind them.

"I hope so," Lhiannon said, her eyes trained on the doorway. The templar standing there was becoming more and more agitated as the moments passed, his hand settling on the hilt of his sword and pulling it slightly from the scabbard. The templar in their room watched them warily from behind his full helmet, hand never leaving his sword.

Anders shifted from where he stood next to Lhiannon. She felt magical energies begin to slowly coalesce around him. "No," she said, grabbing his arm. "Don't."

"We have to do _something_," Anders said, his voice a low hiss in Lhiannon's ear. "We have to try and help the soldiers. We can't just—"

The Orlesian mage scampered into the room, his robes singed and cut from the battle raging outside in the hallway. The templars drew their weapons, preparing for the fight that was coming to them. The mage looked toward the apprentices in the corner, quickly moving toward them and snatching Tallia by the hair. The little elf squealed in pain and surprise as the mage pulled her along, positioning her in front of him like a shield as he dragged her into the hallway.

"Come, dog lord," the mage said, his Orlesian accent little more than a snarl.

From her vantage point in the room, Lhiannon could not see the soldiers in the hallway, but there was apparently a standoff as the Orlesian mage held Tallia before him, her body the only thing between him and the approaching soldiers. There were shouts in Fereldan of "let her go, coward," but the Orlesian mage and his templar allies stood their ground. Tallia struggled in the mage's grasp, her hands clawing frantically at the mage holding her in front of him as her fear began to give way to a desperate anger.

"Let me _go,_ stupid shem!"

As Lhiannon and the others watched the scene before them, there was a slight shimmer in the air behind the Orelsian mage. The mage moved backward with Tallia in his grasp as the armored footsteps of Fereldan soldiers grew closer. Suddenly, the shimmer coalesced into the lightly armored form of a small soldier, daggers plunging suddenly into the neck of the Orlesian mage as he pulled both the mage and Tallia backwards. Blood sprayed in all directions and Tallia screamed as the mage's blood struck the back of her head. At the man's sudden appearance, several Fereldan soldiers rushed forward to engage the Orlesian templars. Tallia dropped to the floor and scampered away from the fighting.

Enchanter Sari raised her hands as the templars in the room were distracted, tendrils of white lightning shooting forth from her outstretched hands. The arcs landed on the armor of the templars in the room, snaking around the metal plates as they began to convulse. One of the templars began to draw his own power, preparing to smite the enchanter. Sari groaned and pulled more magical power to her, the white of the lightning growing so bright that Lhiannon and the other apprentices had to close and shield their eyes.

The sounds of battle quickly fell silent amid the stench of magical lightning and scorched flesh. Lhiannon opened her eyes to see several Fereldan soldiers enter the room, followed by two templars that Lhiannon recognized as Fereldan men. They flanked a shaken but otherwise unharmed Tallia, who quickly rushed over to the other apprentices to be gathered into a tight hug despite the gore covering her.

"What's happened?" Sari asked, looking at the lead Fereldan soldier that entered the room. "Are the others all right?"

The soldier glanced at the senior templar, who nodded his approval. "I'm part of the Fereldan army, led by the Teyrn of Gwaren to Kinloch Hold."

The templar stepped forward to speak to Sari and the apprentices. "Come with me. The Teyrn and Knight Commander want us to take a head count. We need to find the missing…" His voice trailed off as he looked toward the apprentices, apparently considering his words carefully.

_Missing? _Lhiannon thought to herself. _Who could be missing? Unless he means something else…_

Soon enough, it became apparent to Lhiannon that it was not just the missing templars and mages soldiers were looking for, but the dead as well. The apprentices and Harrowed mages were ordered to the main audience hall, where a head count could be taken to determine who was among the missing. Soldiers and templars moved through the halls with a purpose, checking rooms and calling out commands to each other. As Lhiannon walked the hallways of Kinloch Hold, she saw the scars the usurping of the tower had left behind. Walls were blackened with soot and scorch marks from spellcasting. Lhiannon recoiled in revulsion at seeing spatters of what looked like crimson paint dotting the walls and floors in numerous locations. The smell of copper and magic lay heavy in the air. Lhiannon found herself gaping at a peculiar mark on the wall as they came to the main staircase leading down; a silhouette of what appeared to be a human figure surrounded by blackened soot adorned the wall. Looking down, she saw what appeared to be two footprints on the floor surrounded by more soot. She cried out as she realized she was looking at the last stand of a mage who had been immolated in battle. She quickly brought a hand up to her mouth, fighting an almost uncontrollable urge to vomit.

"Lhi, don't look at that," Anders said, pulling her toward the staircase. Lhiannon turned to look at Anders, whose face had taken on a pale pallor. Apparently, he had come to the same conclusion at seeing the marks on the wall.

Deep voices filled the hallway as the apprentices drew closer to the main hall. Upon entering the large chamber, Lhiannon and Anders both gasped at the battle scars that ringed the room. A tuft of Lhiannon's hair waved in a gentle breeze. She looked up to see several Tranquil men and women on the staircases and balconies of the chamber, opening small windows to allow fresh air into the tower. The smell of magic—and something Lhiannon thought was far more sinister—hung in the air despite the efforts of the Tranquil.

Fereldan templars watched over their charges, many looking haggard and bone weary to Lhiannon's young eyes. Many wore armor in sore need of cleaning and repair, while others tended to injuries. There were also a number of soldiers in the room, the greatest concentration of which were near the great double doors that served as the main entrance. Lhiannon felt Anders gently pull her to the side, his neck craning to get a better look at those gathered. Tallia and Jowan moved to a nearby bench, sitting down and quietly watching the activity around them.

Lhiannon followed his gaze toward the soldiers, moving her head and standing on her toes to peer into the group. She recognized two of the individuals right away; they were the Grey Wardens that had come to Kinloch Hold not long before. Her brows knitted together. _Where are the other Grey Wardens? There were more than two that came here._

In the center of the circle, Lhiannon recognized a tall, blond man as Maric, King of Ferelden. He, too, looked haggard with torn trousers and an ill-fitting, dirty shirt. Had she not seen him previously, Lhiannon would have thought him a beggar. The King was speaking to the two Grey Wardens, both of whom also looked tired and dirty. _What in the Void have they been doing?_

Next to the King stood a tall, black haired man in imposing dark armor. He held a scowl on his face and when he spoke, his gestures were ones of exasperation and anger. While he gave the King a dark look, he apparently saved his true scorn for the Grey Wardens; his gestures bordered on hostile when he spoke to them.

"Wow," Lhiannon said, her voice a low whisper toward Anders. "Whoever that is, he looks _really_ angry."

"Who are you talking about?" Anders asked, standing on his toes and looking in the direction that Lhiannon indicated. "I see the King and the Grey Wardens… " Anders paused, snorting lightly. "Ah, _now_ I see who you're talking about."

"What?"

Anders pointed toward the tall man in dark armor. "That's Teyrn Loghain."

Lhiannon felt her brow furrow once more. "Who?"

"Oh, come on Lhi," Anders said, scoffing and rolling his eyes at his friend. "Were you born under a rock? Or in a small, isolated village or something?"

Lhiannon smirked, giving Anders a playful punch on the shoulder. "Yeah, Andy, I was born under a rock. Just tell me who he is."

"All right, Lhi, here's your history lesson for today," Anders said, pulling Lhiannon close and wrapping an arm around her waist. "That man, there, is Loghain Mac Tir, Teyrn of Gwaren and Hero of River Dane. He, King Maric, and Queen Rowan were the ones who drove the Orlesians from Ferelden not so long ago. He and the King are best friends."

Looking toward the King and the Teyrn, Lhiannon snorted lightly as she saw the Teyrn snap at something the King said. "If that's the Teyrn being friendly, I'd hate to see him when he's _un_friendly."

"Lhi! Andy!"

Turning around, Lhiannon and Anders saw the relieved form of Rigana pushing through the crowd toward them. There were several angry shouts and sneers as Rigana approached, but she ignored them. Once she reached Lhiannon and Anders, she threw herself into their arms, simultaneously laughing and crying as they held each other.

After a moment, Rigana pulled away, sniffling and wiping tears off her face with her fingertips. "Where's Tallia?" she asked, her voice hoarse. "Is she safe?"

"Yes, Rigana, she's safe," Lhiannon said, motioning to the bench where Tallia and Jowan sat watching the activity around them. "She was with us on one of the upper floors."

"Thank the Maker," Rigana said, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hand. "I was in the library when the Orlesian templars came in and took us up to the barracks. There were fourteen of us crammed into a room made for six. They wouldn't tell us what was happening in the tower and they wouldn't let us leave." Rigana paused, her eyes widening in fear and apprehension. "Have you two seen Vivian at all?"

"No," Anders said, "I haven't seen her."

Lhiannon shook her head, dread settling in her stomach as she watched Rigana's face pale considerably. "I haven't seen her either."

Rigana brought her hands to her face, sighing heavily into them. "That's what I was afraid of. When the Orlesians came, she wanted to fight with the Harrowed mages." Rigana's breath hitched before she continued, her voice little more than a choking sob. "The last I saw her, she was casting spells at the Orlesians and screaming at me to run."

The dread intensified in Lhiannon's stomach as a lump formed in her throat. She quickly looked to the doorways where mages continued to enter, hoping against hope that she would see Vivian's familiar face in the crowd. Surely, if she were here and saw the Grey Warden Duncan, she would make her way over to him, if only to catch a quick glance of the dark and swarthy Warden and maybe a second chance to steal away with him into a dark corner somewhere.

"There are still mages coming into the chamber," Lhiannon said, trying to sound optimistic for the sake of her friend despite the dread crawling in her gut. "We'll keep watching for her. She'll be here. "

"I don't think so, Lhi," Rigana said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just don't think so."

* * *

><p><em>Maker help me, if Maric doesn't wrap this up soon, I'm going to grab him by the ear and drag him back to Denerim.<em>

Loghain stood in a small circle, arms crossed over his dark armor as Maric spoke with the Grey Wardens. As far as Loghain was concerned, this entire mess could be laid squarely at their feet. If they had not come to Denerim with stories of their missing Warden and their fear-mongering, Maric would not have felt the need to run off with them on some fool's errand in the dead of night. There had not been a true Blight in a great many years and there would not be one now. A missing Warden was _their_ problem. Loghain felt his face scowl even more deeply as the words of the Witch of the Wilds once more rose to the surface of his mind, her ghostly laughter echoing through him. He would _never_ betray Maric; he would rather fall on his own sword than betray him. She had used the threat of the Blight to win some sort of concession from Maric and of that, Loghain was certain.

"We may be able to track the Architect within the tower," Fiona said, grasping her staff so tightly her knuckles were white. "But we must do it quickly before he and Utha escape."

"I have already ordered the tower sealed," Loghain said, not bothering to hold back the contempt he felt for the mage; just her Orlesian accent made his skin crawl. "Your little battle was still going on when I led the army into the tower. This… Architect… could not have ventured far. The army is under orders to allow no one to leave without my express word."

"Loghain, let the Grey Wardens look for them," Maric said, holding a hand up to try and stay Loghain's anger. "I trust that they will find the Architect and Utha—Fiona and Duncan know what they're doing."

Loghain bristled. "Yes, I'm _sure_ they know a great many things. For example, they knew how to try and throw Ferelden into chaos once again by encouraging its King to run off in the middle of the night on a fool's errand."

"This isn't a fool's errand, Your Grace," Duncan said, his young face darkening as he attempted to stare Loghain down. "The Architect is extremely dangerous and having Utha as an ally…" Duncan's face twisted in what Loghain thought was grief for a moment before he regained control of himself again. "We just have to find them."

Loghain rolled his eyes and scoffed loudly before Maric spoke once again. "Loghain, I'm going with the Wardens to search the tower for the Architect and Utha. Take the men and continue searching for—"

"No, Maric," Loghain said, his voice a growl through gritted teeth. "I'm not letting you go _anywhere_ with these Wardens, not without me and an army behind you." Maric opened his mouth to protest, but quickly snapped it shut again. Clearly, he was not about to argue with Loghain considering the events of the recent past. The Grey Wardens looked at the exchange with equal parts concern for the King and disdain for Loghain. _I don't give a bloody damn what the Grey Wardens think of me. I'm not letting Maric out of my sight until he's safely back at the palace in Denerim where he belongs._

With a curt nod, Maric turned his attention to Fiona and Duncan. "Then let us begin searching the tower for the Architect and Utha. They couldn't have gotten far."

Loghain walked at Maric's right side as they followed Duncan into the bowels of Kinloch Hold. Fiona walked at Maric's left, her staff in hand and glowing slightly as she had a spell at the ready for any encounters with either Remille's lackeys or the Architect and his minion. A number of soldiers, templars, and mages both preceded and followed their small band, checking rooms for survivors or enemies. Before Loghain allowed the search to begin, he insisted that Maric don a set of borrowed templar armor; there was no way Loghain was going to let Maric potentially walk into a fight in just a simple shirt and trousers. Maric tugged at the neck of the armor, the fit a little too close to his neck for his liking. His hand rested on the hilt of his dragonbone sword, ready for any attack that may come their way.

As the Grey Wardens led them deeper into the tower, the smell of corruption became stronger. Duncan's steps became quicker until those following him had to run to keep up with the swift Rivaini. As they descended the stairs to the first of the lower levels of the tower—where the docks were located—the first of the bodies appeared.

Loghain ordered the soldiers and templars to fan out in the chamber as he crouched down and turned the dead soldier over. Loghain recognized him as a young lieutenant, even with the left half of his face burned beyond recognition. The man's remaining eye was open wide in fear at what horror he must have seen in the last moments of his life. Other bodies littered the room, some felled by magic and others seemingly felled by hand-to-hand combat, their throats crushed by a powerful force.

Looking up, Loghain saw Duncan and Fiona standing at an empty dock. Apparently, whatever trail they were following ended there. Loghain stood and approached the dock, Maric at his side.

"What is it?" Maric asked, coming to stand next to Fiona and putting a hand on her shoulder, his thumb stroking her lightly. Loghain felt his eyes narrowing at the gesture; it was far too intimate for mere acquaintances. From what he knew of the elf, she had a short temper and was quick to anger, so such a familiar gesture should have been unwelcome. As Loghain watched, she took a small side step closer to Maric. It was likely something she had not been aware of. Loghain felt his frown grow deeper. He did not like what he was seeing from Maric and the elf, as it brought back memories of another elf that Maric had been smitten with. Could Maric have fallen for this Fiona in such a brief time? Unfortunately, Loghain thought it to be very likely based on precedent. It would be best to put as much distance between Maric and the Grey Wardens as soon as possible.

"The trail ends here," Duncan said, slamming his fist into his open palm. "Blast!"

"They're gone," Fiona said, her voice a sigh of agreement. "Damn."

Loghain felt his anger boil over and he hissed angrily between his teeth. "All of this and all you Grey Wardens have accomplished is losing a creature you claim is a mortal enemy and having one of your own _choose_ to return to the Deep Roads with it. You put the King of Ferelden in mortal danger with your foolish tales of lost Wardens and a nonexistent Blight." Loghain took a step closer to the Grey Wardens, his dark gaze falling first on Fiona, then Duncan. "By rights, I should have you thrown into the darkest cell in Fort Drakon before seeing you strung up—"

"Loghain!" Maric said, grabbing the Teyrn's arm. "Stand down!"

Loghain turned to look at Maric, a dark glare on his face. He pointed an accusatory finger at Fiona and Duncan. "Maric, their Order was banished from Ferelden for interference in the matters of the Crown, and before you argue that it isn't interference, think of the ramifications had you perished in the Deep Roads. Think of how they would have been instrumental in bringing fear and chaos to Ferelden. Apparently, the Grey Wardens are no different now than they were in Arland's time when they stuck their noses into affairs that were not their own. Say the word and I will personally escort them to the border—"

"_No_, Loghain," Maric said in the most stern voice he could muster. "Enough. We will discuss this later."

With an exasperated snort, Loghain glared at Maric, but held his peace, if only for the sake of appearance. Even Loghain knew he could only push Maric so far when it came to matters of the Crown, especially in front of others. When they were alone—and Loghain would make sure they were soon enough—he would let the King know what he _really_ thought of these Grey Wardens; _Orlesian _Grey Wardens for that matter. If he had his way, no Grey Warden would step into Ferelden ever again.

* * *

><p>Lhiannon sat between Anders and Tallia in the great hall of Kinloch Hold, watching as the Knight Commander, Mother Carolyn of the local chantry, and the senior enchanters presided over the ceremony installing Senior Enchanter Irving as First Enchanter. Her mind felt numb as she watched the ceremony, like she was looking at the world through someone else's eyes. King Maric and Teyrn Loghain sat off to the side with the Grey Wardens, watching over the ceremonies with solemn expressions. After Irving's installation, they would accompany the Circle outside, where a large pyre stood bearing the bodies of the dead. It would be a simple funeral for those who had been lost.<p>

A number of mages and templars were missing from the ceremonies, excused by the senior enchanters and knight commander of the templars; those excused were either the healing mages or those recovering from injuries sustained in the battle with Remille's supporters. Others who were well enough were allowed to attend the ceremonies. There were a number of mages and templars that were bandaged or walked with the assistance of others. With so many people injured, healing poultices and lyrium were in short supply and used for only the most gravely wounded. Even then, there was barely enough to go around. The less seriously injured would have to let their wounds heal naturally or wait until the healing mages had recovered sufficient mana.

Lhiannon gasped at the sight of some of the mages. While several had run-of-the-mill cuts and bruises, others appeared to have been systematically injured. Rumors ran rampant within the tower that many of those taken prisoner by the Orlesians had been flogged, burned, cut, or in other ways tortured. Some were said to have been beaten for information or because they would not join the usurpers, while others were brutalized for no reason in particular. From what she could see before her, the rumors had a basis in truth. _How could they do that? The Orlesians were mages and templars too!_

One of the Orlesians' victims—which Lhiannon, Rigana, and Tallia had learned late the evening before—had been their missing friend Vivian. It was Senior Enchanter Sari that had delivered the sad news, staying with the young apprentices as they mourned their friend. Sari had been reluctant to explain exactly what had befallen Vivian, but sighed and told the young women what she thought would appease them.

"Vivian, two older apprentices, and several Harrowed enchanters were captured by Orlesian mages during the initial hours of the battle," Sari had explained, choosing her words carefully. The girls did not need to know about the suffering that Vivian had experienced before her death. "The Orlesian mages were... not kind... to Vivian and those she had been captured with." Sari paused, the image of those they had found dead flashing through her mind. Bound, burned, and ravaged bodies had been found tossed carelessly into an alcove just off the library where the fighting had occurred. Vivian had been among them.

As Enchanter Sari had told the girls about Vivian, Lhiannon's grief began to give way to anger. "She was just a _girl,_" Lhiannon had said, her voice a growl just before her chest had hitched in her grief. "They didn't have to _kill_ her!"

"Unfortunately, the usurpers likely saw her as a threat and treated her as such," Sari had explained, pulling Lhiannon close and giving her a gentle hug. "In war, most people will cast first and ask questions later."

Lhiannon's thoughts came back to the present as she felt Anders wrap an arm around her shoulders. He had been at her side almost continuously since hearing the news about Vivian, simply allowing her to cry and rage as he imparted his quiet strength. She was grateful for his support and friendship, thanking the Maker more than once for her friend.

Anders' arm tightened around her slightly, pulling her closer to him. As she turned to give him a small smile, her stomach fluttered at the look she received from him. It was warm and kind, but Lhiannon could sense something else behind it. She brushed her hand against his leg, a quiver of excitement rushing through her.

* * *

><p>Maric had insisted that he and Loghain remain at Kinloch Hold for the night to both rest and attend the ceremonies elevating Senior Enchanter Irving to First Enchanter as well as to attend the simple funeral for those who had fallen during the battle. It was just as well, Loghain thought to himself; he wanted to personally tend to the executions of those who had been partners with Remille in his brief takeover of Kinloch Hold. Even Maric had agreed that justice needed to be swift and uncompromising in the aftermath of the battle that took place. Unfortunately, the two remaining Grey Wardens had insisted on attending the ceremonies as well, which irritated Loghain to the point where he nearly insisted that he and Maric take a contingent of men and leave immediately for the small village across the lake.<p>

The Knight Commander, Greagoir, and the new First Enchanter guided Maric and Loghain to a guest room on the floor of the tower housing the templar barracks. Two beds occupied the room and a stone tub stood in the corner behind a folding privacy screen. There were several sconces lit, lending a soft glow to the room. Knight Commander Greagoir ordered several of his templars to stand guard outside the door, joining those of the Fereldan army that Loghain also ordered outside. As they settled themselves into the room, Loghain was secretly relieved to be amongst the templars. Though magic had its uses, Loghain did not entirely trust the phenomenon or those that wielded its power. He placed his trust in the metal and skill of his blade.

As Loghain removed his armor and cleaned it, he could sense Maric hovering nearby, the tension in the room between them nearly a physical presence. Dipping a soft cloth into his polish, Loghain ignored Maric in favor of working on his armor. _Let him sweat._

"Um, Loghain…?"

The only sound in the room was the whisper of cloth against metal.

"Loghain, come on. Don't be like that."

Loghain continued to polish his armor, seemingly oblivious to the King's presence.

Maric sighed in exasperation, his hands outstretched in supplication. "Loghain, I had to _do_ something. I couldn't just sit in the palace waiting…"

"That is _exactly_ what you should have done, Maric," Loghain said, his voice a low rumble. "You were needed in Denerim by your country and your son. And what did you do? You snuck off in the dead of night—"

"I didn't sneak off," Maric said, his voice sheepish as he ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of nervousness. "Well, not exactly."

"Yes, Maric. _Exactly. Like. That._" Loghain punctuated each word with the pounding of his fist on the table he was working at. He raised his gaze to meet Maric's, an angry fire burning in his cool eyes. "You snuck out on your country and your son after I gave my word that I would escort the Wardens into the Deep Roads. What do you think would have happened if you had died down there?"

Maric ignored the question; he refused to think on what would have become of Cailan had he been orphaned. "Loghain, I had to act. If I can prevent a Blight from coming to Ferelden, I have to try."

_Again, the words of the witch. _The long simmering anger came to the surface of Loghain's mind once more, remembering how the witch had told Maric that Loghain would betray him again and again, each time worse than the last. So far as Loghain knew, he had never betrayed Maric; the witch was simply mad. Loghain stood, pointing an accusatory finger at the King. "_There will be no Blight,_ Maric. When will you ever understand that that witch _lied_ to you? There hasn't been a Blight in centuries and there will be no Blight now. She's nothing more than a fear mongering charlatan and you were a fool for listening to her and a fool for following the bloody Grey Wardens into the Deep Roads. Lost members of their long irrelevant order are _not_ the problem of the King of Ferelden."

"They needed our help, Loghain."

"And your country does not? Your son does not? Did you ever think that they could have concocted that story and instead taken you to Orlais? The Orlesians have tried assassination before. This could easily have been a change in tactics, using the Grey Wardens—or their name—to do their dirty work." Loghain crossed his arms over his chest. "You should have let me accompany them. I could have determined their true purpose and you could have continued to do your duty to Ferelden and your son. You are the king, Maric. Act like it."

Turning away, Loghain returned to the table and to polishing his armor, his face still carrying a stony expression. Maric walked to the brazier in the room and lit it, standing in front of the gentle heat in an effort to take the last of the chill from his bones.

There was no point in arguing with Loghain any further. When the man thought he was right, there was no changing his opinion. And, Maric had to admit, Loghain_ was _right. Still, if a Blight could be prevented, Maric had to try. He might not live to see the next Blight according to the witch's prophesy, but that did not mean his direct descendants would be so lucky. He had to try and protect them, no matter the cost.

_That _was his duty.

* * *

><p><em>I know in TST it's said that Loghain barely spoke two words to Maric on the way back to Denerim. I just couldn't see Loghain staying silent for so long. I could see him giving Maric the cold shoulder for a bit, but it just seemed highly improbable to me that he wouldn't say SOMETHING. So, in my world, Loghain <strong>does<strong> say something._

_Loads of thanks go out to reviewers Suilven, Aura of Darkness Night, Arsinoe, Wyl, Dante Alighieri, cloud1004, Tyanilth, and naomis8329_. _You all rock!_

_Thanks to all the readers for taking a few minutes of your day to read my tale. Happy New Year!_


	7. Moving Beyond the Past

_**Thanks as always to my superstar beta, Suilven! Your advice was spot on and you make me so much more comfortable as a writer!**_

* * *

><p>Maric took a deep breath, the cool air crisp and invigorating after so many days traveling in the Deep Roads. No matter how many times he had scrubbed his clothes, they still faintly smelled of corruption and death. He sighed wistfully; most likely, the clothes would have to be burned once he returned to Denerim. It would not do to have them burned now. He did not relish wearing nothing but his bare skin under the borrowed armor he wore. The last thing he wanted to do was explain to a healer just how his skin became chafed.<p>

Speaking of things that chafed, Maric turned his head to regard Loghain riding at his side. The Teyrn had been giving him the silent treatment since they had left Kinloch Hold, barely uttering more than an occasional grunt on the journey back to Denerim. No doubt Loghain thought he had said enough already and did not consider this a discussion open to debate. No matter how Maric tried to engage him in conversation, Loghain simply did not respond. _Wow, he really IS angry._

As the miles passed, Maric's thoughts turned to Fiona. She and Duncan were following behind them, the wary eyes of the soldiers always watching them. That was, no doubt, Loghain's doing—not that he necessarily had to worry. With the state of Fiona's corruption, Maric feared she would succumb to it soon. It had spread with frightening speed while they traveled in the Deep Roads, thanks to the treachery of Remille and the Architect. It had not been said, but Maric feared Duncan would have to do to Fiona what Loghain's men had done to Bregan. Would the corruption take her before she could be sent on her Calling?

Fiona and Duncan had been understandably devastated at what had become of Bregan and Genevieve, colleagues that they had known for some time. Before they had left Kinloch Hold, Fiona had penned a hasty letter to the Grey Warden leadership at Weisshaupt Fortress, promising a more detailed report when she and Duncan arrived in Denerim. They had known that it was likely a matter of time before they were recalled to the Fortress to explain the events in and under Ferelden. In the meantime, they had agreed to Maric's offer of hospitality in Denerim, much to the chagrin of Loghain.

_Perhaps the time is right to welcome the Grey Wardens back into Ferelden permanently. I have seen with my own eyes what the darkspawn are—not only once, but twice. Keeping the ban in place would be neglectful to Ferelden and its people, especially if a Blight does come to pass.._

The army spent the days marching toward the capital and the nights camped in fields alongside the North Road. As they passed through villages and towns on the trek east, common folk came out of their homes and businesses, waving and cheering boisterously for their king. Apparently, word had not reached the common folk regarding just what the King was doing in this part of Ferelden. Knowing Loghain, that was most likely his doing as well. Maric suspected that he had kept very tight wraps on why the army was marching through Ferelden, telling only those that had a need to know just what the true purpose of the army's movements was.

In camp, Loghain's tent was pitched right next to Maric's own so that he could keep a close eye on the King—and keep the Grey Wardens away from him as much as possible. Maric had overheard Loghain telling the soldiers that ringed the King's tent that they were to report _any_ movements the King made—other than emptying his chamber pot—to him immediately. Part of Maric resented such seemingly childish treatment toward him, but he _did_ give Loghain just cause to watch him closely. It was no one's fault but his own, and now Maric would have to live with the consequences of his actions.

When the mist-enshrouded form of Dragon's Peak appeared on the distant horizon, Maric felt a tug of both homesickness and dread in his heart. He was relieved to see the majestic peak; Denerim was nestled at the foot of the mountain, and that meant home. Home also meant seeing Cailan again. Maric sighed wistfully, cold tendrils wrapping around his heart. What would Cailan say? Would he be angry at his father? Relieved to see him? Whatever wrath Cailan would visit on him would be completely and totally deserved.

Denerim also meant duty—duty that would likely mean he would not be able to see Fiona for much more than official business. He could, of course, help both her and Duncan with the official report that would be sent to Weisshaupt Fortress. If he wanted to see Fiona outside of official business, Maric knew he would have to show a degree of discretion. _Politics and Loghain_, he thought bitterly.

As he watched Dragon's Peak growing larger, Maric's thoughts suddenly turned toward Rowan. She would be _so_ angry with him, and the worst of her anger would be directed toward his abandonment of Cailan. She would wait until they were in alone in their private chambers before letting him know of her disappointment, bits of her fiery, youthful temper showing through her regal façade.

Maric sighed sadly. What he would not give to hear her chastise him one more time.

The entourage moved steadily toward the capital, their speed increasing slightly as Loghain ordered the men around them to quicken their pace. He wanted to get Maric inside the walls of the palace and the sooner, the better. As they had ridden toward the capital, Loghain had thought about security at the palace and what could be done to make sure Maric did not try such a foolish stunt again. Loghain had given the guard captains and senior officers of the army specific instructions to report anything out of the ordinary to him regarding suspicious movements about the castle. Clearly, he was going to have to add Maric's actions—and those of the Grey Wardens—to those standing orders. It had been a failure of sorts on Loghain's part that Maric had been able to sneak out of the palace all but undetected, and a part of him felt that failure sting like the point of a sword. That was an error he intended to rectify.

Before long, the gates of Denerim stood before them, soldiers atop the battlements calling down to their colleagues on the ground to open the gates for their King. With a deep groan and the sound of creaking metal, the gates began to slowly open. As they did so, Loghain turned his stern gaze to Maric, his eyes boring into the King until he turned to face him.

"Mark my words, Maric: _there will be no Blight._"

Maric hoped Loghain's conviction would be enough. Somehow, he doubted it.

* * *

><p>"Dad!"<p>

Loghain turned his head at the sound of Cailan's voice, watching as the young prince ran through the great hall toward his father. Maric dropped his pack at his feet, crouching down as Calian threw his arms around him. The boy buried his face into Maric's shoulder, his voice somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Maric felt a lump grow in his throat, making swallowing difficult. Cailan's joy nearly moved Maric to tears and his own joy at seeing his son turned to regret. _What have I done? What was I thinking by leaving him?_

Quiet footsteps approached Loghain and he turned to see Mother Ailis coming to stand at his side, a small smile on her wizened face. After a moment spent watching the reunion between father and son, she turned toward Loghain. "Cailan has missed his father very much. We were all so very worried about both of them."

"Is the boy all right?"

"He will be now," Ailis said. "He's been confused; he didn't understand why His Majesty had left and thought maybe it had something to do with him."

Loghain snorted. "Ridiculous."

"And that is what I tried to tell him in so many words. I told Cailan that his father felt it was very important to leave and that the best thing we can do is pray for his safe return." Ailis gave Loghain a small smile. "I'm sure we have you to thank for that."

"I won't be letting him out of my sight," Loghain said, watching as Maric stood and removed his cloak, asking his chamberlain to bring a snack for him and Cailan. As the chamberlain moved off, Loghain's thoughts turned to Celia and Anora. He should travel to Gwaren and tell them the story of what happened first hand. No matter how tightly Loghain kept the information regarding Maric's little adventure, rumors still spread like wildfire among the nobility and he was determine to put out the flames before they could take hold. It had been some time since he had visited Gwaren; seeing Maric and Cailan's reunion reminded him of just how much he missed his wife and young daughter.

_I can't leave just yet though; I need to stay in Denerim to keep an eye on Maric. I need to make sure he is safe and that the Grey Wardens don't pull any more tricks. _

Gwaren was in good hands. For now, Loghain's place was in Denerim at the King's side. That was where he would stay.

* * *

><p>"Lhiannon Amell. Come with me. You are wanted in the First Enchanter's office."<p>

Lhiannon looked up from her book, slightly startled at the terse voice of the templar calling to her from the dormitory doorway. A cold sweat broke out over her flesh. Apprentices were rarely called to the First Enchanter's office unless some sort of punishment was involved. As she walked in front of the templar, Lhiannon steeled herself for a lecture.

_This can't be about the hot-foot stunt, can it? I mean, we didn't _mean _for Niral's robes to catch fire. We just wanted to see if that powdered fire crystal on Niral's boots would light up… It's not like he was _really_hurt… his robes took the worst of it… _

The templar followed several steps behind Lhiannon; she could feel his stare burning into the back of her neck. They passed several other apprentices in the hallways, their eyes passing between Lhiannon and the templar before scurrying into rooms or finding a crack in the floor infinitely more interesting. She could already hear the whispers in the halls; the apprentices—if nothing else—loved to gossip. Her hands twisted amongst themselves, quickly becoming cool and clammy as she worried.

After climbing the stairs to the upper floors of the tower, the ornate door of the First Enchanter's office loomed before her. Lhiannon felt the butterflies in her stomach seemingly morph into small birds, the fluttering sensation maddening. The templar stepped ahead of her, grasping the ornate knocker in his armored hand and thumping it against the door four times. "First Enchanter, the apprentice you requested is here."

First Enchanter Irving's voice called out from beyond the door. "Excellent. Come in, Apprentice."

The templar pressed the latch on the handle open, opening the door for Lhiannon to enter. Swallowing the large lump in her throat, Lhiannon stepped inside the office. The door clicked shut behind her, causing her to flinch slightly.

The First Enchanter sat at his desk, his hand absentmindedly twisting the end of his long beard. He looked at her thoughtfully for several moments before motioning to a plain chair across from his desk. "Come, Apprentice. Sit."

The small birds in her stomach became large vultures, the beating of their wings inside her so strong she thought the First Enchanter would see her stomach churning. They beat faster with every step she took toward the chair; as she sat in it, she thought they would break through her skin to fly about the room in a panic.

Irving looked almost regal in the robes of his office as First Enchanter. Lhiannon had only ever seen him wear Senior Enchanter robes before, or, if he were teaching classes, plain robes that could be easily discarded if they had been ruined in spell casting attempts. She had him as an instructor in her primal spells class, a class that Lhiannon knew she was excelling at. The weaving of fire, ice, earth, and lightning came almost naturally to her and Irving often called upon her to assist other apprentices with their lessons.

Unfortunately, where she excelled at primal spell casting, she found the creation arts to be more of a challenge. She could summon wisps without much difficulty, but she struggled with glyphs and healing spells. There was always a myriad of books on her bedside table regarding creation spells and Anders had also been helping her when they were not in class. Still, it frustrated Lhiannon that she could nearly weave primal spells in her sleep and yet struggled with creation spells.

Lhiannon broke from her reverie as Irving picked up a small piece of paper from the surface of his desk, skimming it briefly before speaking. "I'm sure you're wondering why you're in my office."

"Yes, First Enchanter," Lhiannon said, her voice scarcely more than a hoarse whisper.

Irving rose from his chair, moving to take the other plain one next to Lhiannon. She watched Irving with trepidation, not sure why he was moving to sit next to her if he was about to lecture her. He sighed lightly as he settled into the chair, smoothing his robes as he settled himself into place.

"I know you've been at the Circle for some time, Apprentice." Irving paused and Lhiannon felt the tension growing between them. He studied her for another moment.

Lhiannon finally took a deep, panicky breath, her words tumbling out of her faster than she could stop them. "I'm so sorry, First Enchanter. We didn't mean for Niral's robes to catch fire! We thought it would be funny to see the fire crystal powder burn on his feet! We had water with us! He wasn't really hurt—"

To Lhiannon's surprise, First Enchanter Irving began to chuckle, a knowing smirk crossing his face. "Is that why you think you're here?"

"Well, why else would I be?"

Irving shifted in his chair, turning to face Lhiannon a little more directly. "No, Apprentice, that's not why you are here. I brought you here because I've decided to assign you to an enchanter that can help you with your healing magic."

"What do you mean?"

Leaning back in his chair, Irving smiled slightly. "I know that you will be a proficient mage, especially in the use of primal spells. However, I also know that you are frustrated that you have not learned other spells as easily. It is not unusual for mages to be more proficient in one class of spells than in others and I think assigning you to an enchanter specializing in those spells will help you a great deal."

"But I have Anders helping me. He's really good at healing spells—"

Irving raised a hand, silently beckoning Lhiannon to be still. "I know Anders has been trying to help you, and I am glad that he is showing that initiative. However, know this." The First Enchanter leaned forward slightly, looking Lhiannon directly in her eye. She fought to keep from cowering under his gaze. "Anders, as gifted as he is in the magical arts, is often a disruptive pupil in his classes. He is bored and thinks he should be able to skip all his education and go immediately to the Harrowing so that he can leave the Tower. He is a gifted mage—one of the most gifted I have seen in some time—however, having such gifts does not entitle him to shortcuts."

A frown pulled on the corners of Lhiannon's mouth. "He's my friend. He made me feel comfortable when I arrived. Most of the mages here don't remember their lives before being brought here because they were so young. I _do_ remember my previous life." Lhiannon snorted lightly. "Had I not been a mage, I likely would have been sent off to the Chantry to begin studies as a chanter. Though it wasn't the life I wanted, I _remember_ that life. I remember my family."

"I know the adjustment must have been hard for you," Irving said, his hand reaching across the gap between them to gently squeeze her shoulder. "I, too, came to the Tower as an older apprentice. I remember my parents and siblings well. I did not want to leave them and they did not want me to leave, but they knew the consequences of harboring an apostate. So, I left in order to protect my family."

"I never knew that."

"Few people do, Apprentice. Only those who understand our unique circumstances."

Silence settled upon the room for several moments while Lhiannon pondered the First Enchanter's words. Lhiannon knew that Anders was considered gifted, but they rarely had classes together, so she did not know if what the First Enchanter said was true or not. It _did_ sound like something Anders would do. He had little patience for the hierarchy of the Circle and even less for the templars and celerics.

"I get it, First Enchanter, but Anders is my friend. He always will be."

"I'm not telling you to stay away from him, Apprentice," Irving said, shifting in his chair to face her once more. "I'm only telling you to be careful. By telling you to stay away from him, it will make you seek him out. No, mages need the support of friends because for many mages, friends are the only family we have."

After Irving finished speaking, he rose from his chair next to Lhiannon, moving instead to the chair behind his desk. He picked up the piece of paper he had been looking at when Lhiannon arrived. "I have decided to pair you with Enchanter Sari. Instead of attending your regular classes on healing spells, you will meet with her."

Lhiannon sighed, looking down at her folded hands. "Well, this makes me feel pretty stupid." She looked up when she heard Irving's light chuckle from across the desk.

"Have I also mentioned that as an assigned apprentice, you will also have the opportunity to accompany your tutor on assignments outside of Kinloch Hold if they feel you are ready?"

Lhiannon felt her mood pick up considerably? "_Really?_"

"Indeed," Irving said, standing and motioning Lhiannon to rise as well. "That is a privilege reserved for only the best students. You may not have been here long, but I have a good eye for talent. You, Apprentice, will go far."

The grin crossing her face felt so wide, Lhiannon thought her face might crack in half. The prospect of traveling outside Kinloch Hold was exciting. She resolved to do everything she could to be given that privilege. "Thanks, First Enchanter." She turned and bounded off toward the door; she could not wait to find Rigana, Tallia, and Anders and tell them. Before she could leave, she heard the First Enchanter call out to her.

"You're not the first apprentice to try the hot-foot stunt. Just… be careful."

* * *

><p>Several weeks had passed since King Maric and his men had left Kinloch Hold. The mages, templars, and clerics continued with the cleanup and restoration efforts within the ancient building. While the minor damages had been seen too, the great gathering hall still bore the scars of the battle there. Other rooms within the tower were still off limits, including the room in which Vivian had died.<p>

Lhiannon missed her friend terribly. Her bed was still empty in the small dormitory that she shared with Rigana, Tallia, and several other mages. Soon, that bed would likely be filled by a new mage and while Lhiannon welcomed it, part of her still felt lost without her friend.

Pulling her blanket more tightly around her, Lhiannon felt the light breeze caress her skin, the goose bumps erupting over her flesh causing her to shiver involuntarily. She sat with her back against an outcropping of rocks along the shore of Lake Calenhad, looking out over the calm waters of the lake toward the distant shore beyond. Behind her, she could hear the footfalls of templars patrolling the grounds. Mages were allowed to wander the grounds of the small island during the day under the ever watchful eyes of the templars. This place among the rocks was one of the few places where mages could sit and watch the lake without being directly in the templars' line of sight.

Lhiannon thought of Vivian a great deal still. She occasionally saw her in her dreams, mostly sitting on her bed and laughing, flicking her hair over her shoulder. Reminders of her life and death were all around the Tower: her empty bed, her favorite reading room, the groove in the rock that she had carved with a finely honed fire spell. Reaching out, Lhiannon placed the tips of her fingers on the rock, the stone rough and cool under her skin. She slowly traced the grooves that Vivian had carved—the letter 'V'—and sighed as the tips of her fingers met at the point at the bottom of the letter. "I miss you."

Footsteps approached the place where Lhiannon sat, though she barely heard them in her reverie. Looking up, she saw Anders approach with a tightly wrapped blanket tucked under his arm and a mischievous smirk on his face. It faltered somewhat when he saw the melancholy look on her face.

"Lhi? You okay?"

Lhiannon sighed, scooting over on her blanket so Anders could settle himself down beside her. She reached out and touched the carvings in the rock. "Yeah, I'm okay."

Anders' eyes watched Lhiannon's fingers move down the rock. "I miss her, too. Though I brought us something that will make us feel better."

Lhiannon watched as Anders began to unfold the blanket he held in his lap, the curiosity evident on her face. As Anders unwound the cloth, she caught a glimpse of something brown. A moment later, the folds of the blanket were pulled away to reveal a glass bottle in his lamp, partially filled with an amber liquid.

"What is that?" Lhiannon asked, her brows furrowing as Anders lifted the bottle, turning it so that the attached label faced them. The writing was in a foreign language, however Lhiannon had picked out enough words to know they were Antivan.

"Antivan brandy," Anders said, quickly throwing a glance around the rock to watch for any interested templars.

"Where did you get it?"

With a low chuckle, Anders pulled the stopper from the bottle and brought it to his lips. Lhiannon watched the amber liquid meet his lips a moment before Anders pulled the bottle away, shaking his head slightly and smacking his lips. "I liberated it from Surana, who liberated it from one of the templars." He raised a brow to Lhiannon and smirked, handing her the bottle. She looked at it for a moment, watching the brandy settle inside. With a small shrug she plucked the bottle from Anders' hand, raising it to her lips.

The smell was strong, assaulting her nostrils and making her eyes water slightly. She had never indulged in alcohol before, so this would be a first. Tentatively, she placed the cool glass against her lips and took a small sip. The brandy was spicy against her tongue and she fought against spitting it out. It burned as she swallowed, liquid fire traveling down her chest to be replaced a moment later by a deep, decadent warmth. As her eyes threatened to water even more profusely, she felt Anders put his arm around her shoulder and pull her closer, chuckling as he did so.

"You all right, Lhi?"

"You didn't tell me this was going to be like swallowing a fireball," Lhiannon said, her voice little more than a rasp.

"You wouldn't have tried it then."

Lhiannon passed the brandy back to Anders, who took a larger draw from the bottle before offering it to Lhiannon once more. Before long, they had nearly drained the bottle, remembering their friend and her antics as they drank. As they laughed, Lhiannon felt a buzzing in her head while the heat of the brandy spread throughout her body. She found herself giggling at the slightest comment or slurred word from Anders as her eyes grew heavy. She closed her eyes, fighting to ignore the slight spinning sensation.

Eventually, Lhiannon became aware of Anders pulling her closer to him, his nose gently nuzzling her hair. She slowly opened her eyes, watching as Anders' hand came up to brush her cheek. Turning to face him, Lhiannon fought to focus her bleary eyes on him. His eyes appeared to be as heavy as hers, but there was an expression in them she had never seen before. She felt a new heat spread throughout her body, not sure if it was just the alcohol again or something else. It settled into her core, a decadent heat that begged for attention.

Anders slowly closed the distance between them, his lips softly pressing against hers. Lhiannon closed her eyes as she felt his tongue gently push between her lips. Instinctually, she opened her mouth to him, feeling the tip of his tongue brush along hers. Anders' fingers buried themselves in her hair, gently running through the strands. Lhiannon felt her tongue dance alongside Anders', her mouth swallowing his little moans of pleasure. As she felt Anders' hand tentatively brush her breast, Lhiannon's eyes suddenly opened wide.

_What the fuck…?_

* * *

><p><em>Wyl, I can picture you cringing already. :p<em>

_Ugh, it's been a horrible month of writer's block for this story. There were so many times I sat down to write and nothing came. Suilven was a lifesaver in bouncing ideas for this chapter. She helped break the dreaded block! You rock, Suilven!  
><em>

_The hotfoot stunt was inspired by Justin Verlander of the Detroit Tigers (I love baseball!). During the past season, he played a prank on teammate Don Kelly by lighting his shoe on fire (kids, don't try this at home!). You Minnesota Twins fans will likely recognize THAT as a nod to Bert Blyleven, who was known in his playing days as the "Frying Dutchman" because he would set teammates shoelaces on fire. Want to see the video? Here you go (remove the spaces, of course). The hotfoot discussion starts about one minute in. ht tp:/ www. you tube .com/watch ?v=92ch-9WdysQ_

_I mentioned in RA that Lhiannon had visited Orzammar as an apprentice assigned to a senior mage. I thought I'd better introduce that pretty soon. We know Lhi isn't the best mage when it comes to healing, even now. She's going to need a little extra help (and she would look awkward sitting in "Remedial Healing 101" with a bunch of younger apprentices).  
><em>

_Thanks to reviewers cloud1004, Aura of Darkness Night, Suilven, Wyl, naomis8329, Arsinoe and Tyanilth. Your comments, ideas, and support are very much appreciated!_

_Thanks as well to the lurkers!  
><em>


	8. What's Left Behind

_**Thanks as always to the awesomeness of beta Suilven and how she cleans up my messes!**_

* * *

><p>His lips were soft and pliant against hers, his tongue gently—yet hesitantly—seeking and exploring her mouth. His fingers moved softly through her hair, the pull matching the growing heat inside her. As they kissed, Lhiannon felt the light brush of Anders' hand against her breast, his touch curious as his fingers moved over the sensitive nipple. Lhiannon arched her back slightly, pushing her breast more firmly into Anders hand…<p>

… and then her eyes flew open.

Her eyes were drawn to Anders' face, so close to hers that she could feel them cross as they moved over his skin. The heat in her body quickly quelled as their kiss suddenly felt… _wrong_ somehow.

Anders was her friend; the very first friend she had made when she entered Kinloch Hold only a few months before. She had watched him woo other girls—and the occasional boy—in the tower and had even given him her opinions of those people when he had asked for them… and sometimes when he did not. He had been her confidant when she had originally felt awkward around the other apprentices. He had often helped her with her studies, even spending time with her when it had become clear she was struggling with her healing spells. He always made her laugh when she was feeling down and she had found in him a closeness she had only experienced with her brother as they had grown up in Greenwood Vale. In that moment, she realized that Anders had actually become closer to her than Edwin ever had.

She could not do this. It felt wrong, even with the buzzing of the brandy still roaring through her head. Its influence was strong, but not strong enough.

Moving her hands up to Anders' shoulders, Lhiannon gently pushed him back, breaking their kiss. Anders paused, a look of confusion crossing his features. His light brows knit together and his head tilted slightly as he studied Lhiannon's face. "Lhi? What's wrong?"

"I… I can't do this."

"Sure you can," Anders said, leaning forward to nuzzle her hair. Lhiannon closed her eyes, fighting the growing heat inside her once again. The buzzing of the brandy thundered in her head, pushing and nudging her to continue, to satisfy the desire and need building in her one more. She turned her face slightly toward him, almost instinctually, before she pulled away from Anders again.

"No, Andy. I _can't_. It just… doesn't feel right."

With a sigh, Anders pulled back and studied Lhiannon for several moments. She felt as if his eyes were boring into her, searching for a reason why she had stopped him from continuing despite both of them clearly wanting to continue.

"Why, Lhi?" Anders asked more sharply than he intended. He saw Lhiannon flinch slightly and immediately began to stammer as he ran a hand through his hair. "I… I mean, _why_ doesn't it feel right? It felt right to me and I'm pretty sure it felt right to you."

Lhiannon pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut against the hot tears that suddenly flooded them. She felt so confused; in a way, she loved Anders, but that love felt similar to the love she had for Tallia, Rigana, and Vivian. Granted, her body responded to Anders' kiss and touch, but she knew that was a normal response exacerbated by the alcohol. While her _body_ craved the touch, her mind was too strong. When she asked herself if she _truly_ loved Anders, the small voice inside her whispered '_not that way.'_

"What if we pursued this, Andy? What if we decided to take our friendship further? What would we do if something were to happen between us? I couldn't bear to lose you as my friend." Lhiannon swiped at a tear as it rolled from the corner of her eye. "You were the first friend I had when I arrived. Remember how I hid you from the templars?"

Anders chuckled softly. "I remember you practically shoving me into that dusty trunk at the end of your bed. I sneezed for hours after that."

Holding out her hands in supplication, Lhiannon continued. "You're my best friend. I can't let anything happen to that. Falling in love is just... too risky."

Silence fell between them as Anders shifted to sit next to Lhiannon, his back against the outcropping of rocks behind them. The waters of Lake Calenhad gently lapped against the stones nearby. The plaintive cry of a gull soaring overhead drew Lhiannon's attention upward. She watched the gull soar on the air currents until it disappeared from her sight. Sighing softly, she closed her eyes. Had she already damaged their friendship beyond repair by stopping him?

"Dammit. You're right."

Lhiannon turned to look at Anders He was massaging his temple and grimacing slightly as if he were fighting off a headache. "I am?"

"Against my better judgment and reputation amongst the apprentices in the tower, yes." Anders turned to face Lhiannon directly. "I want you, but I don't want to force you to do anything you don't feel is right. I, too, value our friendship too much to do that. Even if you did give me blue balls."

Lhiannon grinned sheepishly. "Sorry about that."

As she finished speaking, Lhiannon saw a small grin pull on the corner of his mouth. "You… won't tell the other apprentices about this… will you?"

"Preserving your reputation?"

"Always." Anders stood, holding out a hand to Lhiannon and helping her to her feet. He reached down and picked up the empty Antivan brandy bottle. With a grin, he led Lhiannon to the shore of Lake Calenhad, where he flung the bottle far out into the lake. It bobbed on the surface for a moment, catching the rays of the sun before sinking beneath the surface.

* * *

><p>A year had passed since the events surrounding the liberation of Kinloch Hold from the late First Enchanter Remille's usurping. Most of the scars of that day had been erased; <em>most,<em> Lhiannon thought to herself as the somber anniversary ceremony continued. _But not all. _ A call had gone out to the other Circles in Thedas, asking for enchanters to come to Kinloch Hold to replace those instructors and mentors that had been lost. After several weeks of a diminished population, mages had begun to arrive over the subsequent months, boosting the population and morale of the mages once more. While the tangible scars on the building itself were all but gone, the physical—and mental—scars remained on the mages themselves. At any rate, the Circle and Chantry hoped that this ceremony would finally be the closing of that horrific chapter of the recent past.

Much had changed in the last year. Lhiannon was still meeting with her mentor, Enchanter Sari, to improve her healing spells and work on mixing and combining reagents to make potions and poultices. While her healing spells were still troubling her, she was making slow progress. "You may never be the best healer," Sari had told her, "so I'll teach you to create potions and poultices as well. It will be helpful. We already know your gifts are in the primal realm, but you should still know basic healing." They met with the First Enchanter on a regular basis to discuss her progress, as was normal for apprentices assigned to senior mages.

Rigana was quickly moving toward her Harrowing, which she was certain would be happening within the next few months. Even the senior mages were in agreement that she should be put to the test soon. Lhiannon was both happy for her friend and slightly envious. Rigana's mentor had already told her that they would be traveling to one of the northern arlings once her Harrowing was complete, so she was excited to undertake this new adventure. Lhiannon knew her Harrowing was still some time off because of the age at which her abilities had manifested. Still, she would not be the oldest mage to face the Harrowing, so that gave her a degree of comfort.

Lhiannon was glad that Tallia would still be at the Tower after Rigana had left with her mentor. The young elf was still at least a year away from her Harrowing. First Enchanter Irving was looking for a mentor for her, but had not found a suitable one just yet. The prejudices against elves still remained among some of the human mages, so finding either an amenable human mage or a suitable elven mage was still a work in process. Tallia was understandably impatient for a mentor, but rarely complained beyond how ignorant some of the _shemlens_ could be. She continued her diligent studies, knowing that her time would come soon.

Jowan was with many of the younger students, taking the necessary beginner's classes and learning about the history and laws of magic. The laws of magic fascinated him; he wanted to understand the relationship between mana and the Fade and sought to learn about magic of all types. He was showing a curiosity about the ancient magic used by the Tevinter magisters and scoured the libraries on his free time to learn all he could. Whenever Lhiannon visited him in his dormitory, he always had his nose in a book. If nothing else, his vocabulary was expanding by leaps and bounds.

Lhiannon sighed quietly when her gaze fell to Anders beside her. He still had not faced his Harrowing and was becoming increasingly angry about the situation. He often questioned the senior mages and even the First Enchanter himself, seeking to understand why he had not been selected for his Harrowing. "The senior mages are holding me back!" he had complained more than once to Lhiannon. "I don't know if it's because they are jealous of my abilities or are punishing me for something. I just want to take my Harrowing so I can _leave_ this place!"

"I'm sure the mages will let you know when you're ready, Andy. You just have to be patient."

"_Fuck_ patience, Lhi! I'm tired of waiting! They had better put me through my Harrowing soon… or else!"

Lhiannon had felt her brow lower at Anders' vague threat. "Or else what?"

"Or else… oh, I don't know… just _or else!_"

It was not long after that conversation that Lhiannon discovered what 'or else' meant.

* * *

><p>"Apprentice Amell! Get up!"<p>

Lhiannon felt herself being pulled from the washed out landscape of the Fade and back into the real world, the jarring effect causing her head to both pound and spin with maddening vertigo. After a moment, she realized that there was an ironclad grip on the upper part of her arm, pulling her into an upright position before her tired brain could catch up. She opened bleary eyes and squinted at the bright light of several lanterns held just before her. The pounding in her head increased at the stabbing light.

"Get _up_, Apprentice."

The blankets were ripped away from her, exposing her to the sudden chill of the room. She yelped in surprise. Looking about, Lhiannon saw the angry expressions of several templars gathered in a half circle at the side of her bed. Beyond them, Lhiannon saw Tallia curled up on her bed, her knees to her chest as she looked on with wide eyed horror. Her eyes moved from Lhiannon to the templars and back again.

"What's happening?" Lhiannon asked, her mouth feeling as if it were full of cotton. She reached for the small cup and carafe of water at her bedside, but was pulled out of bed and toward the door by a scowling templar, a stocky middle-aged man named Marley. Standing at the door was Knight-Commander Greagoir himself, who stepped aside as his templar pulled Lhiannon toward the door.

"You are coming to my office, Apprentice," the Knight-Commander said, leading the march through the halls toward the stairs. Lhiannon saw other templars stationed along the hallway, guarding the doorways and barking commands for the mages to stay in their rooms and be quiet.

Fear began to settle into Lhiannon's stomach and hot tears began to burn in her eyes. She nearly had to run in her bare feet to keep up with the relentless pace Marley was keeping as he all but dragged her along by the arm. She turned to look at the man holding her. "What's happening? What have I done?" she asked again, her voice barely more than a cracking whisper.

"That remains to be seen."

Her mind raced with questions. Why were they taking her? What had happened? As she continued her frantic pace to keep up with Marley, a more terrifying question came to her:

_Are they taking me to be made Tranquil?_

At that thought, she began to struggle with the templar in earnest, trying to jerk her arm from his iron grasp and dragging her feet along the cool stone floor of the hallway. Her shoulder screamed in protest as Marley yanked her arm. She began to pound the silverite encased arm of the templar holding her with her free hand, the fist making a dull thumping sound as it impacted the metal. "No! Let me _go_! Don't make me Tranquil! It's not fair! I haven't _done_ anything!"

"Do you want to call a smite down upon you, girl?" Marley said, his voice a hiss in Lhiannon's ear. "If you keep struggling, I'll have no choice but to do it and I assure you, it won't be a pleasant experience for either of us."

Greagoir turned his head, looking over his shoulder to where Lhiannon was being pulled behind him. The templar was pushing her flailing hand away with a scowl on his face. "You are not being made Tranquil," the Knight-Commander said. "However, if you keep screaming and causing a fuss, you'll be taken to a cell and kept there until we are certain you are telling the truth."

After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the Knight-Commander's office. The templar holding Lhiannon's arm pulled her to a chair across from Greagoir's desk and deposited her into it. Once he had released her arm, he stood directly behind the chair, arms crossed over his armored chest. Another templar stood in the doorway, waiting for orders from the Knight-Commander.

"Captain, go wake the First Enchanter," Greagoir said, his voice a firm command. Once the templar left, Greagoir turned his attention to the weeping, scared young apprentice seated in the chair across the desk. Lhiannon had her arms wrapped around her, her head bowed and long strands of her hair were falling into her face. Greagoir watched as several tears fell from the girl's face into her lap, small wet spots appearing on the dark fabric of her nightdress.

Reaching into his armor, Greagoir pulled out a small, clean kerchief. He walked around the desk to stand next to Lhiannon, holding the small square of fabric out to her. "Here," he said, his voice low and not unkind, "you may wish to use this."

Lhiannon looked up at him and sniffled. Her eyes were red and tear filled, and several wet tracks glistened on her face. She looked confused at his small offer of kindness. With a shaking hand, she reached out and took the proffered cloth. "Thank you."

As Lhiannon used the soft cloth to dry her cheeks and dab at her eyes, she heard rustling and footsteps from behind her. The footsteps drew closer, coming to stand next to the Knight-Commander. Looking up, Lhiannon saw the First Enchanter looking down at her, then over to where Greagoir stood.

"Greagoir, what is going on here? Why have you called me down in the middle of the night and brought this apprentice to your office?"

"Irving, Apprentice Anders has gone missing."

Lhiannon took a sharp breath, clutching the kerchief tightly in one hand as it hovered near her face. Her stomach sank as her shocked brain processed what the Knight-Commander had just said. "What?"

"That is why you are here, Apprentice Amell," Greagoir said, turning his hard gaze onto her. "You are here to answer questions regarding his disappearance. It is a well-known fact that the two of you are close friends. We are here to determine your involvement. Now, tell us."

Patting at her eyes, Lhiannon took a hitching breath. "I don't _know_ anything, ser. Honest, I don't."

The Knight-Commander crossed his armored arms over his chest and for a brief moment, Lhiannon wondered if he slept in his armor. It was as brightly polished as she had ever seen it, even at this late hour. Templar Marley came to stand next to Greagoir, joining the Knight-Commander's scowling.

"Apprentice," the Knight-Commander continued, "we _know _you and Apprentice Anders are close. I find it _very_ difficult to believe he never said anything to you. The templars have searched the tower and found no sign of him. _Where is he?"_

"Ser, I don't _know_!" Lhiannon said, her voice beginning to crack.

"_Do not lie to the Knight-Commander!_" Marley bellowed, looming over Lhiannon menacingly. The First Enchanter began to protest, but stopped in mid-sentence with a gesture from the Knight-Commander.

"_I'm not lying_!" Lhiannon met the templar's glare, her anger beginning to grow larger than her fear of the templars or whatever punishment they might threaten her with. She had no idea where Anders was, that was the Maker's honest truth. He had never spoken to her of his desire to leave the Tower before his Harrowing. He had been unhappy, yes, but she never thought he would simply try to escape. That was when the realization hit her: he did not tell her for just this reason. He did not want her to be able to tell the templars of his plans. Whether that was to protect her or himself, she was not certain. Either way, they would learn nothing of significance from her, and that was mostly likely just what Anders had wanted. Hot tears burned in her eyes once more. She covered her face with her hands, openly weeping into them in both anger and grief. She was angry at Anders for leaving her in this position, yet grieved for his sudden absence. She hated the templars for believing her a liar, and hated the First Enchanter for not intervening.

It was the most alone she had felt since the days she traveled from Greenwood Vale to Kinloch Hold, her hands bound tightly in front of her.

With the quiet clearing of his throat, the First Enchanter moved forward and interposed himself between the armored forms of the templars. He leaned casually against the desk, his relaxed posture a stark contrast to those of Greagoir and Marley's rigid stances.

"Apprentice," Irving said, his voice soothing and calm, "if you know anything—anything at all—that may help us determine Apprentice Anders' location, please tell us." He paused as Lhiannon continued weeping, then leaned forward to put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I know Anders was unhappy with having to wait for his Harrowing. Do you think this could be a reason for him to escape?"

Lhiannon pulled her hands away from her face. She could feel the heat radiating off her cheeks and her eyes stung from her tears. She sniffled slightly, patting her skin with the damp kerchief in an effort to dry them. "Maybe… he _was_ unhappy at having to wait…"

"I _knew_ it!" Marley scowled, turning to regard Greagoir and pointing toward Lhiannon. "She knows exactly what that troublemaker was planning, yet did nothing to stop it. She needs to be punished for not reporting this to the templars."

"Apprentice, I grow tired of your denials," Greagoir said, leveling an accusatory finger at Lhiannon. "You will tell us _exactly_ how Anders escaped and why. You will tell us how long he planned his escape and your role in abetting him."

Lhiannon felt something snap inside her, her grief and confusion quickly turning to anger and rage. She _was_ telling them the truth. She had never caused them any trouble in the past; well, any trouble that she had been caught involved with. As far as she knew, they did not know about the secret passage she and Anders had used to climb to the top of the tower to watch the Grey Wardens a year ago. They did not know about the hot foot stunts or any other little pranks that they had all pulled on each other. They did not know about the stolen brandy and the encounter between her and Anders at the lake.

"_I. Don't. Know_," Lhiannon said, her voice a growl through gritted teeth. The First Enchanter looked upon her tone with disapproval, but she was past caring. "I don't know how many times I can say it. Anders _never_ told me he was planning to escape. I don't _know_ where he would go, or what he would do, or even _how_ he left." She paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. "You can threaten me with chores, or floggings, or even… worse. It doesn't change the fact that I can't tell you what I don't know."

"Put her into solitary confinement until she breaks," Marley said, turning to plead his case to the Knight-Commander. "A few days in shackles with no human contact and only meager meals and she'll be _begging_ to tell you what she knows."

First Enchanter Irving moved slightly to stand between Lhiannon and the two angry templars. "May we speak privately, Greagoir? Just you, me, and the Apprentice?"

After a moment of silence, Greagoir nodded curtly and ordered an unhappy Marley to leave. Irving watched the templar leave the office, slamming the door shut behind him. Once the echoes of the door faded away, Irving moved to stand next to Greagoir so they could both see Lhiannon.

"I believe that sort of punishment is uncalled for, Greagoir. This Apprentice has never been brought before either you or me for disciplinary action in the past, is that not so?"

The Knight-Commander frowned deeply, his brows lowering and nearly touching. "She has not, Irving. However, there is a first time for everything and this is a serious offense."

"I agree," the First Enchanter said, his gaze falling onto Lhiannon. She looked up at him, confused as to where he was leading the conversation. "However, I have worked closely with her and her mentor over the last year. I believe her when she says she doesn't know what happened to Apprentice Anders."

The Knight Commander looked at Lhiannon, his gaze one of stern suspicion. "And if she is lying to both of us? Her transgression will have to be punished most severely."

"And it will be," the First Enchanter said, turning once more to Lhiannon. Though he looked at her with compassion, there was hardness to his expression as well. "I will ask you one more time, Apprentice. This is your last chance to tell the truth. If it discovered later that you lied to the Knight-Commander and me, I will see you harshly punished _myself_. Now, do you know _anything_ about Apprentice Anders' escape? Did you help him in any way?"

Lhiannon looked both the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander directly in the eye and shook her head once. "No, First Enchanter. The first I heard of Anders' escape was when Knight-Commander Greagoir and Templar Marley woke me up. I swear it." She looked over to Greagoir, meeting his firm glare. "I will make a vow upon the Chant of Light, if need be."

The Knight-Commander snorted and shook his head. "Apparently, that won't be necessary, Apprentice."

Irving tilted his head once toward the Knight-Commander. "Thank you, Greagoir. I believe we are finished then?"

"Yes, it appears that we are." The Knight-Commander turned his attention one last time onto Lhiannon. She felt the weight of his gaze on her, weighing her down as if it were a physical presence. "The First Enchanter shows a great deal of trust in you, Apprentice. Take care that you do not—and have not—dishonored that trust. Once lost, trust is very difficult to find again." With that, Greagoir moved from the office in a rustle of metal, sensing that the First Enchanter wanted to speak with the young mage alone. Greagoir had a great deal of respect for the First Enchanter, though they were well known for butting heads from time to time. Irving was a fair man and had a healthy respect for the duties the templars were charged with. They did not always agree, but always seemed to find a common ground between the obligations and requirements of the Maker and Chantry, and the needs of the mages. They might be two diverse personalities, but both had the protection of mages at the forefront of their minds.

With a sigh, Irving turned back toward Lhiannon. "I don't think I need to tell you, Apprentice, that the Knight-Commander will be watching you very closely from now on."

Lhiannon nodded, sniffling slightly and using the kerchief to dab at the wet streaks on her cheeks, hopefully for the last time this night. "Yeah, I suppose."

"He will also insist that Enchanter Sari and I keep close tabs on you as well." Irving sighed, his hand stroking the long hair covering his chin. "I will not have an easy time in these next few days. I will have to answer many questions about how and why Apprentice Anders could have slipped through the templars' guard. The Knight-Commander will also have to answer to his superiors, which will make him extremely unhappy."

"I'm sorry Anders caused such a mess for you."

"This sort of thing doesn't happen often, but it _does_ happen. The Knight-Commander takes great pains to make sure the apprentices and young mages remain here in the Tower until given permission to leave." Irving paused for a moment, then motioned for Lhiannon to stand and follow him toward the door. "No matter what you may think, Apprentice, Greagoir takes his duty to protect mages very seriously. He and I may not see eye to eye on some matters, but I respect him a great deal."

Irving led Lhiannon through the halls of Kinloch Hold toward the dormitories that housed the apprentices. She was quiet, but also visibly relieved. Irving, for the most part, believed her when she said she did not know about Anders' escape. He remembered his warning to her just after the chaos sowed by Remille a year before. He had tried to tell her to be wary of the mage because of his troublesome nature. Now, she was finding out why his warnings were justified. Greagoir often believed in guilt by association because he had seen it many times in his years as Knight-Commander. Blood mages rarely practiced alone; they were drawn to each other like moths to flame. Then there were those mages that believed in violent separation from the Chantry. They always found each other, emboldened by their common belief to the point where, every few years, the templars had to thwart an uprising before it materialized. Troublesome mages often traveled in packs and Greagoir believed Lhiannon near the center of the trouble Anders had caused.

"And here you are, Apprentice," Irving said as they reached the doorway leading to the dormitory with Lhiannon's bed and belongings. A very nervous Tallia leapt from her bed, gasping in relief as Lhiannon smiled at her.

Before Lhiannon could enter her room to rejoin her friend, Irving reached out and lightly touched Lhiannon's arm. She turned to him, a small smile on her face. "Thank you, First Enchanter."

Irving nodded once, winking at the young woman before him. "I shall see you and Enchanter Sari after your lessons tomorrow, as per usual. Remember, though, what we discussed earlier."

"I will."

Irving watched as Lhiannon turned away and nearly ran to her elven friend, who gathered her up into a tight hug before quickly peppering her with questions, one on top of the other. Their voices faded as Irving walked back toward his quarters, rubbing his forehead and letting a wave of healing magic course through him.

He did not look forward to the questions both he and Greagoir would be asked in the following days.

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><p><em><strong>I apologize for the delay in this chapter and possibly the next chapter of "Retribution." It's been a very hectic week or so for this girl. My router died and I'm having issues with the new one, so no internet at home for the moment (at least I have my cell phone!). Our house also sustained wind damage from a storm that blew through my area last week, so the hubby and I are working on that (and the wind just won't stop blowing!). All the stress has had me feeling under the weather too, which exacerbates the sometimes icky feelings I get from being pregnant. Ugh. What a week.<strong>_

_**Special thanks go out to reviewers Suilven, Aura of Darkness Night, Wyl, Arsinoe, Ventisquear, naomis8329, and Tyanilth. You all rule!**_

_**Thanks to those of you reading and lurking in the background as well!**_


	9. Finding a New Normal

**_Heaps of cookies and thanks to beta Suilven, who not only reviewed this chapter once, but then for a second time when I started to get cold feet about some of it. Thank you so much!_**

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><p>As dawn approached, the darkness of the small window began to reveal orange streaks on the distant horizon. The impending sunrise barely registered to Lhiannon as she sat in a chair staring through the glass and into the darkness beyond, her thoughts little more than a droning buzz in her head. A book lay in her lap, still open to the first page as it had been hours before when she had finally given up on the hopes of falling asleep. The oil in the lantern next to her was nearly exhausted, causing the flame to begin wavering slightly.<p>

Anders was gone.

Her eyes burned, but the tears would no longer come. Her emotions fluctuated wildly between crushing loss and overwhelming anger at her friend. _But is he really my friend? Would a friend leave me like this? Did he even _think _about the consequences of his actions?_

Since Anders had been discovered missing the day before, the templars had severely curtailed the comings and goings of the apprentices. Groups of young mages were being herded to class by the templars, who stood guard both inside and outside the classrooms and libraries while other templars searched the tower for evidence. Stairways and hallways were being closely monitored and none of the apprentices were being allowed outside designated areas without a Harrowed mage as an escort. However, even the Harrowed mages had seen their freedoms all but revoked as well. The Knight-Commander had been—and continued to be—vigilant in his search for Anders and any that may have aided him.

Lhiannon had not been surprised to see that she was being followed and closely watched by the templars. While some had kept what she thought was a respectable distance, others hovered over her as if trying to intimidate her. They had to be watching for some sort of deceit or other suspicious activites from her, likely not taking any chances with her story.

She was too numb to care.

A hand softly touched Lhiannon's shoulder, causing her to suddenly jerk her head around, her eyes wide and her mouth an 'O' of surprise. The hand's owner, Tallia, took a startled step backward. "By the ancestors, Lhi. Didn't you hear me call your name?"

"What?"

"Your name? It _is_ Lhiannon, isn't it?"

"Oh," Lhiannon said, averting her eyes and turning away. She resumed staring at nothing outside the window. "Sorry."

Tallia was understandably concerned about her friend's state of mind, but waved off the apology. "Come on, Lhi. We need to get ready for class. You know what Enchanter Wynne is like when students are late."

"I'm not going."

Tallia paused as she opened the door to the small wardrobe that they shared. Her brow wrinkled noticeably. "What do you mean you're not going?"

With a small shrug, Lhiannon continued. "I'm not going. I can't sit there while the other apprentices stare at me, pointing and whispering. I can't sit there while the templars glare at me and watch for signs of guilt. I won't do it…" Her voice drifted off and when she spoke again, Tallia could hear a sight wavering within it. "I can't do it."

Closing the door to the wardrobe, Tallia moved to stand next to Lhiannon, her arms crossed over her slight frame and her gaze disapproving. "Lhiannon, you _have_ to go to class. Don't you see?"

Lhiannon turned to look directly at Tallia, her look hard and jaw clenched. Her voice was firm when she spoke. "What part of 'I'm not going' did you not understand, Tallia? _I'm. Not. Going._"

Tallia sighed irritably and watched as Lhiannon turned toward the window once more, making no move to leave her chair and her contemplation of the landscape outside. Lhiannon was understandably upset; Tallia did not blame her for that. She missed Anders too, but Lhiannon was far closer to the young man than she was, so of course she would feel his loss more deeply. Still, Lhiannon needed to get back to a normal routine, if for nothing else but to take the focus of the templars and other mages off of her and focused onto other matters.

"Lhi, look; if you want to cry, or scream, or mope, you can do it here with me. But you _have_ to go to class." She reached out, putting a hand on Lhiannon's shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "You don't want the other mages or the templars to stare at you? Don't give them a reason to. Avoiding everyone will only make them look at you even more. It's bad for you and it's bad for the rest of us."

Lhiannon turned to look at Tallia, her expression moving from blank to confused. Tallia sighed to herself. _Finally! A real reaction._ She continued, hoping to capitalize on her opportunity now that Lhiannon was _really_ listening."You want to show the templars and mages that you had nothing to do with helping Anders escape? Then go about your life like any other day and throw it back into everyone's faces. If you change your routine too drastically, it will scream 'guilty.' Not only that, but the other mages could start to blame _you_ along with Anders if the templars' crackdown continues more than a couple of days. You don't want _that_, do you?"

"They would blame me?"

"Maybe," Tallia said, shrugging slightly. "Probably, if the crackdown gets worse. Show them that you were telling the truth. _I_ believe you; now you have to make _them_ believe it too."

"But how? How am I just supposed to go on like nothing happened?"

"You just do," Tallia said. "You get dressed, you go to class, and you go through the day just like you always have. Take it one step at a time if you have to."

Lhiannon gave a deep sigh, her gaze dropping into her lap. Strands of her mussed hair fell forward, obscuring her face for a moment before she reached up and brushed them away. She did not want the other mages to put any blame on her for their curtailed freedoms and curfew. She did not want the templars to keep staring at her, watching her for signs of guilt. She did not want to be the object of scrutiny, or scorn, or curiosity, or doubt. She just wanted life to get back to normal.

Or as normal as it could get with Anders gone and the enormous void he left behind.

"All right," Lhiannon said, her voice tinged with resignation. "I guess you're right. I just don't want to do this."

Tallia smiled. "I know you don't, but we have to do lots of things we don't want to do." She bent forward to give Lhiannon a tight hug as she sat in the chair and smiled when her arms reached up to return the embrace. They remained that way for a moment, one giving comfort while the other received it. "Do you think Anders will be okay?"

Tallia felt Lhianon's breath hitch slightly and heard her friend sniffle twice before answering. "I hope so. The templars won't be kind to him if they find him."

Pulling away, Tallia looked Lhiannon in the eye. Her gaze had gone distant once more, her face bland as she contemplated Anders' situation. "Do you... do you think Anders will resist if they find him?"

Lhiannon snorted, a small humorless laugh escaping her lips. "Does the First Enchanter wear robes? If Anders does try to resist…" her voice drifted off, not wanting to finish the thought.

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><p>Classes that day had been nearly unbearable. Lhiannon had found herself terribly distracted and had only caught parts of the lectures. She had been called on several times when the instructors had believed she was not paying attention, missing some of the answers and earning snickers from her classmates. As much as she had tried to pay attention, it had been difficult.<p>

After classes had concluded for the day, the endless questions had come again. _Where did Anders go? How did he escape? What did the First Enchanter and the bucket heads say? Did you kiss him goodbye and play 'hide the sausage'?_

The templars had kept their questions to a minimum during the day, mostly asking where she was going or if she had 'remembered anything new.' While she had tried not to let their questions or looming presence bother her, they still did. Having to explain her innocence over and over was becoming more and more wearisome with every passing moment.

Her mentor, Sari, had taken Lhiannon to one of the libraries as she was conducting research for an upcoming trip to Orzammar. While the templars stationed just inside the library had given Lhiannon a cautious look, Sari had explained their presence and had assured the templars that she would supervise Lhiannon while they were there.

"Thanks, Enchanter Sari," Lhiannon had said once they had drawn away from the templars and into the library itself. "I didn't want to spend the night being bombarded with questions from the other mages."

Sari nodded knowingly. She had asked Lhiannon point blank the day before if she had aided Anders in some way. The tone she had used with Lhiannon was firm and demanding, telling Lhiannon in no uncertain terms that deceit would not be tolerated. Lhiannon reiterated the story she had told to the First Enchanter and Knight Commander, not omitting any details. Sari had watched her knowingly, her gaze boring into Lhiannon to the point where she had fought to keep from fidgeting nervously. After a long and somewhat uncomfortable moment of intense scrutiny, Sari had nodded at Lhiannon, satisfied with the story. Nothing further had been mentioned.

"Lhiannon, I'll be over in the geographical section," Sari said, motioning toward a section of high shelves near one of the curving walls. "I'll come check in with you once I find what I'm looking for."

"Okay."

Lhiannon watched her mentor move off and disappear between the shelves. Turning her head, she saw the small plaque on the end of the row of books next to her; she was in the _School of Spirit_ section. Shrugging slightly, Lhiannon began to walk down the aisle, running a finger along the spines of the tomes as she moved. After a moment she pulled her finger away and looked at it; no dust, not a speck to be found along the shelves or the books themselves. Between misbehaving mages serving punishments and the fastidiousness of the librarians and Tranquil assistants, dust was a foreign concept within the libraries.

Lhiannon looked closely at the tome she had stopped at, an eyebrow rising in curiosity as she noted the title carefully written on the spine: _Spirit Healers Through the Ages. _Curious, she pulled the book from the shelf, its weight surprisingly hefty in her hand. She opened the front cover, looking inside. This was a book she had not read before, and judging by the last date noted on the lending card, it had spent some time on the shelf, seemingly untouched. Turning back toward the end of the asile, Lhiannon moved toward a section of small tables near the wall. Thankfully, the library was sparsely populated, so she had her pick of tables to sit at, well away from the prying eyes and endless questions of other mages.

The book had a faint musty smell as she opened it, the odor wafting through the air as she turned the yellowing pages. She sneezed, grimacing slightly at the smell as it filled her nose. _No wonder this book hasn't been borrowed in ages; you need a healer just to read it!_

As she continued flipping through the pages, something near the back of the book caught her eye. It appeared to be ink of a brighter, newer quality than that used in the book itself. She thumbed through the book quickly, searching for that quick blot of color that had caught her eye in the first place. After a moment of searching—and more sneezing—she found what she was looking for. It _was_ ink, the ink that the apprentices and mages used for taking notes or writing letters and such. Her eyes widened at the sight of the familiar scrawl on the page. There were rudimentary drawings of templars with oversized helmets… being eaten by what appeared to be a tiger with the name 'Ser Pounce-a-Lot' scrawled beneath it.

Tears began to well in Lhiannon's eyes, dripping onto the page and slightly smearing the ink of a templar's severed hand. She ran her thumb over a spot of dry ink, remembering Anders' love of cats and how he had always dreamed of having one once he was a Harrowed mage and able to leave the Tower.

Even though she was angry with him, she missed him far more.

"Are you all right?"

Lhiannon's head snapped up at the sound of a voice ahead of her, hastily drying her tears with the sleeve of her robe. She felt her face flush in mortification as she looked at an unfamiliar young man standing before her. He was several inches taller than her, slight of build with waves of brown hair falling past his shoulders. His bright green eyes looked on her with what appeared to be compassion. His robes were of a design and pattern she was not familiar with. With a nervous laugh, she finished wiping her eyes with the tips of her fingers.

"Yeah… yeah, I'm fine," she said, quickly moving to run a hand over her hair in a gesture of embarrassment. Great, I meet a new mage and here I am, sniveling like a child. "Just… just having a difficult couple of days."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you," he said, shifting slightly on his feet. He placed his hand on the back of a chair across the table from where Lhiannon sat. "Do you mind if I sit down? I'm pretty tired from the trip here."

"Go ahead."

The young man pulled the chair away from the table, the legs scraping lightly against the floor as it moved. He sat with a small sigh, leaning forward slightly to rest his forearms on the table. A moment of uncomfortable silence passed with the young man looking around the library as Lhiannon stared down at the tabletop.

"So, ah, I hear there has been a bit of trouble here lately."

Lhiannon looked up to see him looking at her with an eyebrow raised in question, waiting patiently for an answer. Lhiannon felt her head tilt slightly and her forehead furrow deeply. Her expression must have looked harder that she thought, for the young man quickly looked away and snorted slightly. "Wow, that's quite a look."

"Yeah, you could say there's been trouble here," Lhiannon said, her voice tinged with sarcasm. "My friend is the one that caused the trouble, and I've spent the better part of two days with templars up my ass asking questions about him and making me guilty by association. So, yeah." She immediately pinched the bridge of her nose, grimacing at the ache in her head as well as the sharpness of her voice. "I'm sorry. It's just been really tough."

The young man looked at Lhiannon with interest. "Can I ask you a question? You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

Lhiannon shrugged slightly, propping her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her hands. "Sure," she said, her voice guarded.

"What kind of trouble did he cause?"

How much should I tell? How much does he already know? Lhiannon thought to herself. She moved her hands from her chin to cover her nose and mouth, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Probably doesn't matter; if he hasn't heard it all already, he will soon.

Lowering her hands to the tabletop, Lhiannon told him the story of being awakened in the middle of the night and being questioned about Anders' disappearance. She felt the sting of tears threaten to overtake her again, but she fought them back, quickly and concisely telling the story.

The young man nodded in the appropriate places, listening raptly as Lhiannon told her story. He occasionally broke in to ask who the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter were, which confirmed to Lhiannon that he was most definitely not from Kinloch Hold. Of course, the design of his robes, cowl, and slightly northern accent also gave his foreign bloodline away.

At the end of the story, the young man nodded slowly again. "Can I ask one more question?"

Lhiannon raised a quizzical brow. "When do I get to ask the questions?"

"How about after this last one? That is, of course, if you don't tell me to get out of your sight."

The hair on the back of Lhiannon's neck threatened to stand on end. She was immediately wary of whatever question this young man was about to ask her. If he was prefacing the question in such a manner, Lhiannon suspected she might find the query offensive. "Ask," she said, her voice careful and guarded.

The young man nodded and cleared his throat. He seemed nervous all of a sudden, his body language unsure. After a moment, he looked Lhiannon directly in her eyes and asked his question. "Was this Anders your boyfriend?"

Her first reaction was one of aggravation, wondering where this near perfect stranger had got the nerve to ask such a question. The urge to leave was nearly overwhelming. After studying him briefly, however, Lhiannon saw he was merely curious. Most mages their age had had romantic interests with others, so the question of a romantic entanglement with Anders was most likely an innocent one. While the outside world might frown upon such open relationships, the mages of the Circle were outside those norms and readily took advantage of such opportunities. Not only that, but many templars were uncomfortable witnessing such relationships, so that often drove mages into the arms of others, if only to flaunt that small piece of freedom .

Her annoyance was replaced by a feeling of melancholy. Slowly shaking her head twice, Lhiannon gave him a small, yet sad smile. "No, he wasn't. He was my best friend. I miss him, but I'm also really, really angry at him." She made a fist with one hand and drove it lightly into the palm of the other. "I could just… smack him when I see him again."

Silence fell between them again, not as uncomfortable this time. After a moment dwelling within it, Lhiannon pointed toward him. "You haven't told me your name."

"It's Zane," the young man smiled, bowing his head formally toward her. "You going to tell me yours, or shall I guess?"

"It's Lhiannon. Where are you from, Zane? Are you just visiting Kinloch Hold?"

"No. My mentor and I came here from Cumberland after the call went out asking for enchanters and teachers to come to Kinloch Hold after… what happened here." Zane paused, glancing to the side as another mage came into view from the racks of books, his arms holding several thick tomes. Lhiannon's gaze followed Zane's, noting the middle-aged man in similar foreign robes. The mage looked about as if searching for someone; he stopped when he saw Zane, then made a tipping motion with his head as if to say come here.

"I have to go, Lhiannon; my mentor needs me. No doubt it's to pile even more homework on me than he normally does." Zane stood and pushed the chair back up to the table.

"Wait," Lhiannon said before Zane could turn away, quickly standing and moving around the table to stand without it between them. "You have a mentor, too? My mentor, Enchanter Sari, helps me with healing spells. What does yours help you with?"

Zane shrugged and shifted slightly on his feet, glancing toward where his mentor stood waiting. He waved his hand nonchalantly. "Oh, Enchanter Gaius helps me with this and that. I've always needed a little help with my spells, and, for the past four years, Gaius has done that." Casting one last glance at his impatient looking mentor, Zane bowed deeply at the waist, a grand display that caused Lhiannon to giggle without thinking. "I take my leave of you, my lady. I hope to see you again soon."

Lhiannon matched Zane's bow with a formal, flourishing curtsy, pulling her robes up and out as much as she could under the circumstances, causing her to giggle once more. "I'm not going anywhere."

Picking up _Spirit Healers Through the Ages_, Lhiannon moved off to find Enchanter Sari. She would take the book with her, if for no other reason but to offer a slight bit of comfort and give her a small, physical reminder of her absent friend.

* * *

><p><em>My theory on the young mages and Zane's question to Lhi goes a little something like this: we know mages are considered outside the norm once they go to one of the Circles and generally aren't held to the same standards as "normal" people would be. They may be confined to their towers, but inside those towers, they do enjoy a measure of freedom, including freedoms of a romantic nature that those on the outside may not have available to them. Since hormones still run rampant in young mages, it made sense to me that Zane would think that Lhi and Anders had been romantically involved given Lhi's reaction to Anders' absence. I explained to Suilven that Zane's "is he your boyfriend?" question is likely as normal to mages as "would you like fries with that?" is to us. Or I could be way off my rocker... it wouldn't be the first time! :p<br>_

_More thanks and cookies go out to reviewers Oleander's One (Ole!), naomis8329, Suilven, Wyl, and Arsinoe. Thanks so much for all your support!_


	10. Freedom's Flight

_**Big thanks go out to the awesome Suilven and her beta stick of doom! You are too good to me, my friend! :)**_

* * *

><p>"<em>Fuck!<em>"

Anders barely caught himself from falling face first into the dark and chilly mud of the swamp, his hands stirring up the muck and further darkening the already cloudy water. The smell of rot reached his nose, causing his empty stomach to lurch uncomfortably and the spinning in his head to increase. He remained still for a moment as his head and stomach calmed, opening his mouth to take gulping breaths of the fetid air. As he waited for his body to calm, he listened intently to the world around him, willing his breathing to quiet and his pounding heart to still. The wind rustled through the bare branches of nearby trees and dead vegetation. Several birds squawked angrily overhead, having been disturbed from their business in the swampy water by Anders' intrusion. Something brushed by his hand in the water, startling him. The only sound of breathing was his own.

On shaky legs, he stood upright and tried to flick the mud from his nearly numb hands. With an exasperated scoff, he wiped his hands on the front of his wet and filthy robe, leaving dark, stinking streaks in their wake. When his hands were reasonably clean, he wrapped his arms around himself, turning to scan the distant landscape for pursuing templars. The sun was shining brightly overhead; he hoped the light reflecting off their armor would give him advance warning of the templars' approach.

Violent shivering gripped him as he searched for pursuers, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. He brought his hands to his face, where he cupped and blew into them in the hope that his breath would do something to warm them. His muscles ached not only from the exertion of his escape, but from the shivering as well. When he had emerged from the waters of Lake Calenhad the night before, he had thought he could not get any colder. He had been wrong; he was just as cold now—if not more so—than when he had first stood on the shore of the lake with robes dripping wet and his long hair plastered to his face.

After making the swim, Anders had used haste and rejuvenation spells to put as much distance between himself and the Circle as he could. He had known that it would only be a matter of time before the templars would discover him missing and muster hunting parties. After using the spells for what seemed like several hours, the thought had occurred to him that he should probably conserve his mana. There was no telling when he would need his magic and it would be best to have a full reserve of mana on hand for when—or if—the time came.

Anders was heading north, following the river flowing from Lake Calenhad toward West Hill and the Waking Sea beyond. From what he could remember from his geography classes, there was a decent sized port in the seaside town. With a little luck, he could try and find passage on a merchant ship as a laborer. The thought that he knew next to nothing about manual labor or had any other skills short of magical ones did not cross his mind. The only thing that mattered was escape.

The shape of a barn became visible through the trees as Anders continued his desperate run north. He briefly debated passing it, but the insistent rumble of his stomach interrupted his thoughts. In his haste to escape from the Tower, he had not stopped to grab any food. There simply had not been any time. Approaching the barn could be risky—he knew his appearance just screamed 'apostate'—but his hunger was getting too strong to ignore. After years of regularly scheduled meals within the Tower, his body was not accustomed to the sudden change.

* * *

><p><em>"Why can't I take the Harrowing? I'm as ready as anyone else and even <em>you _have said that my healing talents are as great as mages who have practiced the healing arts for years! Stop holding me back!"_

_"Anders," the First Enchanter had said, clearly exasperated with Anders' insistent prodding, "when you are ready, your turn will come."_

_"But, I _am _ready!"_

_Irving had shaken his head and had waggled a finger at the young mage. "Your talents are not in question here, Anders, it's your maturity level; you have repeatedly shown that you are not ready to accept the grave responsibilities of a Harrowed mage. You are disruptive in class. You harass the templars. These behaviors alone speak volumes."_

_Anders had thrown up his hands at the First Enchanter, had sighed with disgust, and had stalked off to his bed in the apprentice dormitories. _I have to get out of here,_ he had thought as he flopped down onto the bed. _I can't live like this anymore.

_That evening, Anders had found his chance. After spending several hours sulking in his room, Anders had made his way down to the library on the main floor of the Tower, opting to read for the evening rather than join the other young mages in card games, studying, or gossip. He had pulled a book regarding the Tevinter Imperium off a shelf and had sat at a nearby table, idly thumbing through the yellowed pages. A commotion in the hallway beyond some time later had captured his attention and he had put his book aside, curious as to what the sudden swell of voices was all about. The thunder of metal boots had reverberated through the hallways of the Tower as shouts of "Help!" soon followed. Anders had quietly poked his head outside the library and had followed the sounds down the hall and around a nearby corner. _

_Near the doorway leading to the lowest level and the docks leading out of the tower, several templars had been kneeling on the floor near one of their colleagues. They had been quickly stripping off the armor of an older man, Leonard, as he lay on the floor unconscious. The voice of Knight-Commander Greagoir had suddenly filled the hallway, where he had ordered the templars to take the ailing Leonard to the infirmary. Anders had quickly stepped back into the library, where he had waited for several long moments for the sounds of the retreating templars to pass. He had counted to ten before moving once more into the hallway. The doorway to the lowest level had been left unguarded in the commotion surrounding Templar Leonard. With barely a second thought, Anders had quickly and quietly sprinted down the hallway, where he had passed through the door and into the dim stairwell beyond._

* * *

><p>The groaning of his stomach brought Anders' thoughts back to the present and to the nearby barn. He had not eaten since the day before and he could feel his hands shaking in his hunger. There was a house not too far from the barn, so he would have to be cautious in his search for food. Putting the barn between himself and the house, Anders cautiously approached the structure, listening to the sounds of snorting and huffing from the animals within. There was a small gated pasture on the side of the barn, where several pigs gobbled up the remains of their meal in the nearby trough. The thought of trying to scavenge for food within the barn suddenly seemed less appealing as he watched the pigs eat their scraps.<p>

The bang of a closing door suddenly rang out from the direction of the house. Anders' head whipped toward the sound, pausing for a brief moment to listen to approaching footsteps before pulling up his robes and sprinting for the cover of the trees beyond. He was not about to wait around and be spotted by whoever it was leaving the house. A feeling of despair suddenly filled him as he resumed his journey north. It was becoming clear to Anders' that his impromptu plan of escape was not turning out as he had always pictured it in his mind.

* * *

><p>The phylactery in her hand appeared to pulse with power when she was not looking directly at it. Seeing the slow, rhythmic beat of the light within reminded her of a beating heart. She quickly moved her eyes from the distant landscape back to the phylactery in an effort to see the pulsing with her direct gaze; she was disappointed to see that it was gone.<p>

"Templar Rylock," one of her companions, Templar Mendel, quietly called out. "Use the phylactery to obtain a direction."

Rylock looked up from the glass vial in her hand. "How does it work? How will I know which direction is the right one?"

Mendel came to her side, cupping his large armored hand onto hers, guiding her hand and phylactery slowly in a circle. "When using a phylactery to track a mage, it will pulse and glow brightly the closer you come to him. That is, of course, if the mage is alive."

"So the glow dies if the mage dies?"

"Exactly," Mendel said, pausing as the phylactery began to glow slightly when pointed in a northerly direction. He jutted his chin toward the small vial in Rylock's hand. "See? You can see the glow now when looking directly at it." Rylock nodded her understanding, grinning as she saw the phylactery react.

This was her first mage hunt, and Rylock found herself both excited and nervous about the prospect as Mendel led their small party north. She was the junior templar amongst the group of four—herself, Mendel, a middle-aged woman named Hope, and a templar named Evan who was only a scant few years older than her. Rylock had taken her vows several years ago, but had never participated in a mage hunt before now. Before she and her more experienced companions had left the Circle, they had been briefed on the missing apostate. She had felt her face frown severely as the Knight-Commander had described the apostate's physical attributes and patterns of behavior. This apostate was _exactly_ the reason why she had become a templar. Mages were a danger not only to themselves, but to those around them. They needed to be contained, lest they bring the horrors of the ancient Imperium to power once again. She would not let this apostate run wild and threaten the Maker's children.

The phylactery made the hunt easier, but not entirely foolproof, as Rylock had learned from her mentors. As they traversed the countryside in pursuit of the apostate, Mendel taught her to look for telltale signs that the mage had passed as confirmation of what the phylactery told him. As they had followed the trail north, they had found numerous signs of the apostate's passage: broken branches and crushed plant life. Footprints in the soft mud next to the river. A piece of cloth, torn from the robe the apostate was wearing. Their best clue, however, came in the words of a farmer that had been tending to his raspberry bushes as the templars passed.

"Aye, ser templar. I did see a young person of that description fleeing from near my barn just yesterday. Looked dirty and disheveled, so he did. I didn't see anything out of place or missing, so I just dismissed it as a curious traveler. An apostate you say?" The farmer had placed a fist on his chest, nodding forward slightly. "Maker protect us all."

After relaying his tale to the templars, the farmer had offered them a place to rest and a hot meal, which Mendel accepted gratefully. Rylock had bristled slightly, wanting to press forward to close the distance between them and the apostate, but Mendel had gently chastised her.

"We will not stop overly long, Templar Rylock. Are you not thankful for the opportunity the Maker has given us to rest among his faithful?"

With a small, reluctant sigh, Rylock had acquiesced. "A rest would be beneficial."

Mendel had given Rylock a small smile, nodding his approval. "You want to do the Maker's will, but even He and the blessed Andraste were entitled to rest now and then. We shall enjoy this man's hospitality for a short while, then begin the hunt again. Rest assured, Templar Rylock; the Maker will not let us fail, nor shall we fail Him."

* * *

><p>As night fell, Anders felt the cold settle into his bones even stronger than before. He cursed himself bitterly for his impulsiveness. <em>Why didn't I stop and grab a cloak? Or a blanket? Doesn't matter; it would have become wet in the lake.<em>

He needed to warm himself, and quickly. The only way he knew to do that was to start a fire. _And this fire is going to be as big as I can stand it… I'll freeze to death if I can't get warm. _His teeth were chattering almost incessantly as he gathered wood for the fire. After several moments where he thought anyone within shouting distance would hear them, he put his tongue between his teeth to silence himself. While it was effective at silencing them, they still moved, causing his tongue to ache within moments.

Anders was rather proud of the pile of sticks and twigs he had gathered from the copse of trees around him. It was haphazard in construction, but should be adequate to keep him warm. He gathered his mana and summoned fire, reaching out with his hands to ignite the wood. It took several moments for some of the wetter pieces to catch but, before long, a roaring fire burned cheerfully in front of him. He stepped as close to the flames as the heat would allow, letting the blessed warmth wash over him.

* * *

><p>In the distance, Mendel looked up from where he sat before his small fire toward his companions. Rylock, Hope, and Evan had all retired to their bedrolls not long before, seeking to get what sleep they could before resuming the hunt for the apostate in only a few hours. Though they had the mage's phylactery—and it was glowing brighter as they closed the distance between them—a sense of urgency had filled them. Once the phylactery had indicated the mage's trek north, Mendel's first thought was that the mage might be heading for one of the ports along the Waking Sea. It was not the first time an escaped mage had headed in that direction, thinking that the most direct route to freedom could be found to the north. Even if the apostate had made it to one of the larger cities, the Chantry had men stationed at the ports whose sole purpose was to watch for apostate mages. While it was no guarantee, it was the templars' observation that apostates behaved in similar ways. They were paranoid, causing them to constantly watch over their shoulder for followers. Most still wore their mage robes, which was an obvious indication of their status. Almost all of them avoided the chantries like the plague. Many were dirty, disheveled, and ravenously hungry.<p>

Out of the corner of his eye, Mendel thought he saw a faint flicker in the distance. Turning to face the direction in which he saw it, he studied the landscape for a moment. There… a distant flicker of yellow-orange flame. It was barely visible amongst the trees and gently rolling landscape, but it was definitely there. On a hunch, he reached into Rylock's nearby pack, withdrawing the phylactery. He stood, holding the phylactery out before him and taking several steps toward where he had seen the small fire. He studied the phylactery for a moment, waving it from side to side as he pointed it into different directions. As he suspected, it glowed brighter as he moved toward the fire. With a sense of urgency and excitement, Mendel jogged the short distance back to camp, rousing his fellow templars with a gentle shake and a low voice to each one.

"Wake up, my friends. We resume the hunt."

* * *

><p>Anders' eyes flew open and he froze, listening intently to the wilderness around him. It was full dark, the pinpricks of stars the only light other than the low coals of the fire. He closed his eyes and listened, trying to determine what had awakened him from a dead sleep. Perhaps it was little more than the chill creeping back into his flesh. While the fire had burned, the side of his body facing it had grown almost impossibly hot while the other side remained stone cold.<p>

_Maybe I should build a second fire and lay between them. That would keep me warm._

Anders snorted to himself at the thought. "Brilliant idea, Andy. Then when the fire creeps up on you, it can roast you like..."

The snapping of a nearby branch caused him to whip his head around, eyes wide as surveyed the copse of trees around him. He stood slowly, warily watching and listening for more noises in the darkness. The hair at the back of his neck began to rise and gooseflesh broke out over his skin. His breaths became shorter and more rapid, and he could hear himself gasping slightly as he continued to whip his head from side to side. The silence around him grew oppressive, threatening to smother him like a thick blanket.

He paused.

And listened.

There was nothing.

After a moment, he scoffed to himself. _You're in a forest near a river. You probably heard some animal moving through the trees hunting for prey or heading toward the water for a drink. _Anders felt himself relax, releasing the breath he did not realize he was holding with a satisfied sigh. The oppressiveness of the night air and nearly complete darkness were setting his nerves on edge and, while being wary was good, it was threatening to turn into full blown paranoia.

Anders returned his attention to the fire, holding his hand out to warm them over the dying coals. He reached over and grabbed several nearby sticks and twigs from the pile he had amassed earlier, tossing them onto the embers. With a whisper, small jets of flame leapt from his hands, igniting the dried wood and turning the coals into small flames.

As the fire pushed back the darkness, he saw the forms of heavily armed templars emerge from the darkness.

They stood at equidistant points around him. One of the men had his sword drawn, an impressive long blade that gleamed in the firelight; Anders recognized the face of Templar Mendel, one of Knight-Commander Greagoir's senior men. The other man held a sword and shield, relaxed but still ready. A middle-aged woman had her hands on the hilts of two weapons, her armor lighter in design than her companions, but still impressive. Another woman—not much older than Anders himself—had her sword drawn and what was obviously his phylactery in her hand. It pulsed rapidly, a glowing heartbeat in her hand. It was mesmerizing.

"In the name of the Maker's Chantry and the Knight-Commander, you are ordered to surrender yourself," the young woman said, her voice firmer than her age might have suggested. "Step forward so that you can be secured for the trip back to Kinloch Hold."

Anders tore his eyes away from the pulsing phylactery and bristled, a sneer coming to his face as he turned to fully face the young woman. _She's first._

"I'm not going back to Kinloch Hold," Anders said, his voice a clear challenge. He felt his hands twist into claw like shapes, the magic beginning to thrum through his body as it concentrated in his palms. Bravado filled him as his power grew. "Over my dead body."

All but the most senior templar took a step closer, tightening the circle around him. The young woman took an extra half step, her eyes narrowing. "That can be arranged, _apostate_," the young woman spat, slipping the phylactery into a pouch at her waist and bringing her sword to bear threateningly.

Anders saw from the corner of his eye that the elder templar stepped toward the young woman. He placed an armored hand over hers and gently pushed her hands down, lowering the sword into a less threatening position. Anders heard shuffling from behind and turned his head; the other two templars adjusted their positions to close the new gap in formation.

"Peace, Templar Rylock," Mendel said, his voice a low rumble. While Rylock's eyes neither softened nor left Anders' face, Mendel brought his gaze to Anders, the look on his face one of disappointment rather than anger. "Anders," he began, his voice smooth and calm, "let's not have this turn to unpleasantness. You know you cannot leave the Tower without permission. If you cooperate, I will vouch for it before the Knight-Commander. You will still be punished according to Chantry and Circle law, but not as severely."

"No one was going to _give _me permission," Anders said, raising his hands to the level of his waist. "So, I took permission for myself!" With a growl, he hurled a small fireball toward the templar holding his phylactery, hoping it would hit his target; he had never used magic in a real battle with real opponents before. Always it had been simply flinging fireballs at targets in the training rooms. He felt himself grin as the young templar yelped in surprise, raising her hands to her face to shield against the fireball hurtling toward her, her sword dropping to the ground with a thud. Anders hoped his attack would not only destroy the cursed vessel, but also create enough of a diversion for him to escape into the night. He turned and moved to sprint away from the templars, but before he had taken half a dozen steps, a blinding white light slammed into him, knocking him forward and onto the ground violently. His breath fled him in a great _whoosh_ and he felt his limbs twitching uncontrollably. He tried to draw a breath, but his stunned and shocked lungs would not respond. The edges of his vision began to grow dark as his lungs screamed for air.

_Shit_, he thought to himself, his last coherent thought before a sharp crack against his skull made the darkness in his vision complete.

* * *

><p>The sounds of popping logs and a whetstone on metal gradually penetrated the dark veil of unconsciousness that held Anders captive. His body ached to the core, every muscle seemingly crying out in agony. His head pounded, the spot where he had been hit pulsing in time with his heartbeat. With a strangled groan, he brought his hands up to his face, hearing the rustle of chains and feeling their weight as his hands moved. After rubbing his face for a moment, Anders opened his eyes, squinting slightly at the bright light of a fire before him.<p>

The two female templars sat on the other side of the fire. The younger of the two had her head resting against her clasped hands, her mouth moving in what appeared to be silent prayer. She had a bandage wrapped around one hand and a second one on her head, partially obscuring her dark hair. Apparently, Anders' fireball had found its mark. The older woman had removed her armor, gently polishing each piece with a soft cloth before setting it aside. Anders could hear the breathing of the other two templars nearby, but even moving his eyes to find their location made his head pound in agony. The smell of a hearty stew filled the air, causing his mouth to instantly water and his stomach to rumble insistently.

"Ah, you're awake. Would you like some tea, Anders?"

A set of strong hands helped Anders into a seated position. The young mage saw that he had been lying on a clean and simple bedroll. His dirty robe had been exchanged for a clean, if unassuming, robe that the templars often wore when not on duty. His cleaned hands were manacled in front of him, his wrists connected by a short chain with a longer one running down to a second set of manacles attached to his ankles. The manacles were loose enough to allow him some movement, but tight enough to prevent casting any spell of significance. He sighed in resignation, which turned to a groan as his head began pounding once more.

A small cup of tea appeared before him, held in Mendel's hand. "Here, Anders. This is a bit of weak tea with some elfroot added. It will help counteract the effects of the smite."

Anders snorted lightly, debating Mendel's motives. Why would he show him kindness now? His eyes narrowed suspiciously at the cup before he flicked them up to meet the templar's eyes. They were not unkind, Anders thought, but could it be nothing more than a clever ruse? His stomach rumbled once more as the scent of the tea reached his nose, betraying his deep hunger and thirst. Still, he had no reason to trust these templars; they _were_ hunters, after all.

"Evan," Mendel said, turning his attention to the other side of the fire as he set the cup down near Anders, "prepare a bowl of stew for Anders, if you please."

After several moments, a small spoon and bowl of steaming stew appeared on the ground in front of Anders, the scent beguiling as it reached him. Anders' hunger awoke with a vengeance, overriding any suspicion or doubt that crawled through his mind. Though it had only been a couple of days since his last real meal, he felt as if it had been a lifetime. Reaching out with shaking hands, Anders gathered up the warm wooden bowl in his hands, allowing the blessed heat to permeate his skin. He tipped the bowl toward his mouth, drinking some of the thick gravy in large gulps.

"Easy, young man," Hope said, pointing toward the bowl with one of her freshly sharpened long daggers. "You'll throw it up if you eat too fast."

Anders looked over the rim of the bowl, his eyes squinting in irritation as he continued to slurp the thick gravy. A pleasurable heat began to fill him as he swallowed the gravy, driving away the chill that had settled into his bones. The stew tasted slightly different than that prepared by the cooks within Kinloch Hold. Setting the bowl on the ground, Anders took the spoon, shoveling chunks of meat, potatoes, and carrots into his mouth with gusto. While he ate, the templars watched him with interest, as if they had never seen a hungry young man eat before. The warmth of the stew had spread through him, causing his body to relax noticeably. The exhaustion of his journey began to hit him full force, but Anders was determined to finish his meal before giving in to his weariness.

As he neared the bottom of the bowl, he bit into a small lump with a sharp, bitter taste. With a grimace, Anders spit the mouthful of stew on the ground beside him, seeing a slightly chewed up leaf among the potato bits on the ground. His eyes widened as he recognized the long, slender shape of a deathroot leaf. He looked up from the partially chewed leaf, seeing a satisfied smirk on the youngest templar's face. It was then that Anders realized _why_ his stew had tasted different than what he was used to at Kinloch Hold.

"Fade take you, _apostate_," Rylock said, her voice contemptuous. Anders opened his mouth to respond to the templar's words, but he found his voice was little more than an indistinct mumble as he rapidly moved toward unconsciousness once more. He slowly slumped toward his bedroll, the spoon tumbling out of his hand to thump against his leg as the darkness raced to greet him. His eyes began to roll about, the canopy of trees and the light of the fire blurring together into indistinct images. The templars began to speak, their voices sounding as if coming from across a great distance.

"… Hope's sleeping draught…"

"… He can't walk if he's…"

"… Then carry…"

* * *

><p>The dull throbbing in his hip was the first thing Anders became conscious of. Close behind was a feeling of cool dampness and of laying on something hard. He opened his eyes, seeing in front of him a rough stone wall as he lay on his side. <em>Well, now I know why my hip pains me.<em> His hands were manacled again, this time the long chain leading to a metal ring embedded in the wall. Turning his head, he saw that he was in a small cell, barely longer and wider than his own height. There was no sleeping pallet, no table or chair, no blankets in which to ward off the chill the damp stone of the walls and floor imparted into the cell. The only light came through a small barred window in the thick wooden door. He was still wearing the simple robe the templars had given him, though it was now wrinkled and dusty from laying on the floor.

Through the opening in the door, Anders heard heavy footsteps outside, growing louder as they drew closer. He scrambled into the farthest corner of the cell, the sound of the dragging chain loud in the small room. His heart began to thud within his chest. A moment later, a dark figure stopped and peered into the opening in the door, blocking the wan light from outside. Anders felt his breath hitch in his chest at the sound of a key being inserted into a lock, the tumbler falling away with a small thud. The door opened and a dark shape entered, carrying a small lantern. Two other shapes remained outside the cell door, their attention focused on the events unfolding inside.

"By rights, I should have you shipped off to Aeonar for this little stunt."

Anders quietly groaned as the voice of Knight-Commander Greagoir filled the small cell; he was back at Kinloch Hold. He had no memory of returning here; the templars' sleeping draught must have been powerful indeed. Not knowing what to say to the Knight-Commander's threat, Anders remained silent, his eyes downcast in sullen defiance.

"Nothing to say, Apprentice? I find that hard to believe." Greagoir took a step closer, nudging Anders with an armored foot. "You've always been so outspoken about your abilities and how you felt the First Enchanter was holding you back. Is that why you escaped?"

Anders shrugged, keeping his eyes averted from the Knight-Commander. _He thinks he knows it all, let him figure it out._ He shifted slightly as he sat, moving some of his weight off his throbbing hip. What he would not give to be able to cast a healing spell on himself but, given his bonds, that was next to impossible.

"Who helped you escape, Apprentice?"

Anders remained silent, not wanting to reveal just how he was able to slip out of the Tower unnoticed. Already, a plan was forming for his next escape attempt. He would scour all the books he could in the Circle libraries for anything that would help him survive in the wilderness. He would make sure he had more adequate clothing, some food, and perhaps—if he could manage to steal it—some lyrium. He would scour the shores of Lake Calenhad for a hiding place to stash escape supplies. Perhaps he could even find a way to fashion a false bottom for his storage chest. This attempt was nothing more than a minor setback; he just _knew_ it.

The Knight-Commander grew even angrier at what he perceived as Anders' stubborn defiance. "If you continue to refuse answering questions, I will order all of your known confidants to be taken into custody and interrogated… again."

Anders looked up and into the stern gaze of the Knight-Commander. If there was one thing Greagoir was known for, it was that he never bluffed. If he said he was going to do something, everyone within the Circle knew he would keep his word and do it. If he had already interrogated his friends once, chances were his second interrogation would be harsher than the first, especially if he thought they had lied to him the first time around. Guilt began to worm its way into his heart and mind; could he let his friends pay the price for his escape? Would they even _be _his friends if he knowingly pushed some of the blame onto them? Could he live with himself if he did that?

With a heavy, resigned sigh, Anders began to tell his tale. This was a defeat, to be sure, but one that would not stop him from trying to take his freedom again.

* * *

><p>Lhiannon ran through the halls of Kinloch Hold, holding her long robe up with one hand while she used the other to steady herself as she ducked and weaved past other apprentices and templars that blocked her way. Cries of "Hey!" and "Slow down!" followed her through the halls, but she ignored them. Her heart both pounded and fluttered in her chest as she ran, exertion and anticipation thrumming through her. She took the steps to the next floor two at a time, her breath coming heavier and legs throbbing as she made the climb. Bursting forth into the hallway, she had a near miss with one of the patrolling templars, using her free arm to guide her around the glowering man.<p>

"Slow down, Apprentice!"

"Sorry!" Lhiannon said, throwing the word over her shoulder as she finally spotted the open doorway she was looking for. She gathered the last of her energy and sprinted the final distance, skidding across the stone floor and using the doorframe as a crude brake to stop her forward momentum.

In the room, sitting on the small bed, was Anders.

He looked up to meet her eyes, an apprehensive gaze crossing his features. She felt her jaw drop and eyes widen as she saw him before her. He looked pale and tired, but otherwise fine. He had only been gone a couple of days, but those couple of days had felt like a lifetime.

Anders stood and faced her, his face almost unreadable. "Um, hi?"

Lhiannon felt her trance snap and she took several small steps into the room, moving to stand before Anders. _He's really here… really back…_ The events of the last couple of days quickly flashed through her mind: the interrogation; the templars crawling through the Tower; the whispers; the tears. She was relieved to see him here and unharmed, yet a blinding anger began to seethe within her.

With almost blinding speed, Lhiannon's open hand cracked against Anders' cheek, the force of the blow knocking him to the side and backwards a step. His cheek turned red as she watched him straighten himself, the blotch taking the rough shape of her hand. He looked down at her, seemingly stunned for a moment at what she had done. Before he could speak, she closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight, almost smothering hug. A hot tear trickled out of her eye and down her cheek as she felt his arms return her embrace.

"I deserved that, didn't I?" he said, his voice quiet and reserved.

Lhiannon sniffled, feeling a small grin spread across her face. "Absolutely."

* * *

><p><em>More thanks go out to the brilliant Wyl for the idea of having a chapter from Anders' perspective on one of his escapes. It was much better than my idea of simply having him retell the story to his friends after he returned to Kinloch Hold. Thank you so much! Readers, if you haven't checked out his DA stories "The Little Hero" and "Hurtled Into Chaos," do yourself a favor and get to it!<br>_

_I wanted Anders to be a bit scatterbrained in his escape; after all, this is his first attempt and as he's still a teenager here, he's going to be impulsive about it. He also doesn't realize that fire can generally be seen from a distance at night, that he'll leave clues behind as to his path for experienced trackers, and that templars will do what it takes to bring apostate mages back into the fold. Well, if at first you don't succeed...  
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_Baby news: it's a girl! She's got big feet too, and constantly reminds me of that fact. ;)  
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_Big thanks to reviewers Oleander's One, Wyl, Suilven, Arsinoe, naomis8329, and Tyanilth. You all are wonderful! Thanks as well to those of you lurking and following the story as well. I appreciate all of you!  
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_Edit: I forgot something very important! I have to thank the lovely and talented Seika for a picture of Lhiannon that she created. It's here if you'd like to see it: ht tp:/my. deviantart .com/ messages/#/d4z66z6. She's also here on FF under xseikax... go check out her story "Blood Song." I love her Lilyth!  
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